


The Best Years Of Our Lives

by caesurae



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/F, More tags to be added as story progresses, everyone is closer in age than in canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-08
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-07 10:03:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7710826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caesurae/pseuds/caesurae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fareeha Amari learns a great many things during her first year at Overwatch University: how to coexist with the wildest (and, admittedly, greatest) group of people she’s ever met, how to become a WLW phenomenon on Tumblr, how to ask out the girl of her dreams, and how to survive the most incredibly unusual and unbelievable circumstances that can possibly happen to a hapless group of university students.</p><p>Or,</p><p>Snapshots of Fareeha Amari, Angela Ziegler, and many others at university.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome to Adawe House

**Author's Note:**

> this first chapter has been completed for a few weeks, now, so I figured I'd post it! Note: I started writing this before Ana was revealed as being a character, and thus Ana is the only character whose age hasn't been really changed. Another note: Overwatch University is located in an undisclosed country. Where? I have no idea. So really, they're all international students. 
> 
> my tumblr is gravehelm.tumblr.com. if you have any questions, send me some there!

 .

This is how they first meet:

Fareeha has just arrived at Overwatch University, and is making her way through campus towards Adawe House, her home for the next four years. It’s one of many on-campus halls of accommodation – smaller and older than most, certainly – and it's exclusively for international students, as well as being reasonably affordable. Fareeha's heard good things about the House itself and the students who live there. She carries a large duffle bag on her back, and pulls a suitcase along the ground.

She consults her map and judges that she’s just around the corner from her destination. She turns left onto an avenue lined by tall silver birches: further on and to the left is a large park, where a handful of students are playing ultimate frisbee. To the right are three brick accommodation buildings: closest is Aldridge House, which is exclusively post-graduate accommodation; and farthest on is Olympus House, which is accommodation provided for certain scholarship students. The three residences are all three stories tall, ivy spreading across the red bricks, and roses blooming brightly out the front. 

 _I’m here_. She’s made it. There’s a dizzying rush of excitement and nerves, and she takes a deep breath. _This is it._ Fareeha exhales and continues on, till she stands before the path that leads to the double doors of Adawe House. Barely able to restrain the grin on her lips, she adjusts her duffle bag and then steps forward.

Forward. To start her new life at Overwatch University. To meet her housemates and make friends. To –

Above, someone throws open a window, and shouts, “Watch out below!” Fareeha, typically quite alert and blessed with fast reflexes, dodges to one side as a large object falls from above.

It’s a bundle of blankets and sheets, all knotted up together. Fareeha blinks at it and looks up.

“I’m Genji!” A young man with a devilish smile and vivid green hair grins down at her from a second story window. “Don’t tell my brother I did that!”

And then he’s gone. Fareeha’s gaze travels back down to the pile of blankets and sheets. Something that looks suspiciously like an arrow is poking out from one side. She readjusts the straps of her duffle bag and thinks, _that sure was a welcome_.

The doors of Adawe House slam open. Out comes a man with a weary countenance and a cup of coffee clutched in his left hand: he surveys the wreckage before him, and then looks at Fareeha.

“Guy with green hair?”

“Yeah. Said his name was Genji.”

The man sighs. “He’s been here three hours, and he’s like some kind of accursed whirlwind.” He looks at Fareeha, then, and seems to recognise her. “You’re Fareeha Amari, aren’t you?”

“That’s me.”

He nods and looks a little less weary as he descends the steps, skirting round the blankets and sheets before extending his right hand. “I’m Jack Morrison. The RA for Adawe House. I wish your welcome had been somewhat nicer.”

She shakes his hand and laughs a little. “I thought it was kind of great, actually.”

He cracks a weary grin. “Then you’ll fit right in. Come inside, I’ll show you the ropes.”

.

Jack shows her to her room, which is on the second floor of Adawe House. “Your roommate is called Aleksandra Zaryanova. She hasn’t arrived yet, but some of her belongings have.” He gestures to the impressive dumbbell set gleaming on a polished steel rack at the foot of Zaryanova’s bed.

“ _Nice_ ,” Fareeha says appreciatively. She thinks she might get along quite well with this Aleksandra Zaryanova.

“Anyway, I’ll leave you to get settled in. Come downstairs, take the first left, and you’ll find yourself in our common room. Some of the others will be there. I’ll introduce you, then give you a tour of the place.”

Fareeha nods. “Thanks, Jack.”

When he’s gone, she looks around the shared bedroom. It’s quite large: there’s a bed either side of the wide window that looks down onto the garden between Adawe House and Aldridge house, and beneath the window is a long and low bookcase. Each bed has a bedside table, and there’s a solitary desk and chair shoved against the left wall, on the other side of Fareeha’s built-in closet. _That’s alright_ , she thinks, _Jack said there’s a study room downstairs_. The bathroom has a shower and toilet – no bath, but that’s alright, as she’s never really liked baths – and all in all, it’s better than what she had expected.

Fareeha shoves her suitcase and duffle bag at the foot of her bed, then sends her mother a text that says, _Arrived at Adawe House, talk tonight?_ Then she turns to head back out into the corridor.

She steps out of her bedroom without looking and collides with a force of nature. Down to the floor they fall, Fareeha landing on her back and her assailant yelping in surprise, somehow managing to straddle Fareeha’s hips upon landing.

There’s silence. Fareeha blinks and wonders if she’s dreaming. She must be. This cannot _really_ be happening to her. Perhaps Genji with the green hair _did_ hit her on the head with that bundle of sheets, blankets and arrows, and thus she is seeing things that are not actually happening. But…no. No. This is real.

And this is how they first meet:

“Well, hello,” says the young blonde woman on top of her. The _incredibly beautiful_ blonde woman on top of her. With a grin, she adds, “I was planning on waiting a few days before getting a woman under me.” Her blue eyes have a wicked gleam, and her lips part to reveal white teeth and the tip of a pink tongue.

Fareeha stares up at her, feeling a little breathless. _So this is how I die_ , she thinks, _straddled by a beautiful woman who is flirting with me_. And what a way to die! She thinks that her heart might burst through her ribs and leap out of her chest, so fierce and loud it is hammering away.

Eventually she musters her thoughts together and replies with, “Why wait?”

The blonde laughs. “ _Good_ one. I’m Angela Ziegler.” And then – sadly – she’s getting to her feet, offering Fareeha a hand. She’s quite strong, as Fareeha realises when that hand pulls her to her feet. “Freshman.”

“Same. Fareeha Amari.”

“Sorry about, ah, jumping you?” Angela fixes her red plaid shirt, worn over worn blue jeans and some scuffed old vans, then glances up. The smile on her lips is transfixing. Fareeha cannot look away. “I suppose that is a good word for it. Are you alright?”

“Fine. You didn’t even wind me.” _You could have broken my ribs and I’d probably thank you_ , comes a silly thought from the lewder corner of Fareeha’s brain. She clears her throat and hopes that she’s not blushing. “You’d make a good rugby player, I imagine,” Fareeha notes. Then she imagines Angela Ziegler, muddy and wearing a rugby uniform, charging towards her with a ball clutched under one arm. _Don’t think about that don’t think about that don’t think about that_. What a wonderful picture! _Don’t think about that don’t think about that don’t think about that_.

“Ah,” Angela says, with mock sadness, “but soccer is my chosen sport, alas.”

And _that’s_ pleasing news. Suddenly her mental image of Angela shifts, and she sees her streaking after a soccer ball with fierce determination, face settled into a warlike, triumphant expression. _Don’t think about that either, you idiot!_  Fareeha almost shakes her head to rid herself of that lovely image. “You play soccer?”  she manages to ask.

“Oh, yes. I’m hoping to get on the team here.” Angela gives her a long, considering look – no doubt taking in the sight of Fareeha in her gym shorts and t-shirt. Fareeha’s never been so glad for the fact that she’s wearing gym clothes: not with the way Angela’s eyes travel from her calves to her thighs, and linger at her biceps. She’s proud of the effort she puts into her workouts, and suddenly feels the ridiculous urge to _flex_ – she doesn’t, though. That would be terribly awkward.

 _Angela Ziegler_ , she realises, _has made me a fool_. And they’ve only just met. This spells dire things for the rest of their interactions here at Adawe House. She hopes that over time – no, that _very soon_ , she will be able to look at Angela and think, _ah, my housemate,_ and not, _here is the goddess that straddled me and then told me that she plays soccer._

It’s unfair, really. Fareeha’s comfortable with her sexuality – she likes women and women who like women like _her_ , and she’s been out for a long time now, and this university is an _exceedingly_ progressive campus – and she’s generally not the sort to daydream about other women running around in soccer uniforms while flashing bright, promising grins in her direction. Then Angela Ziegler, with her plaid shirt and her suggestive words, came along and tackled her to the ground and _straddled_ her.

And now Fareeha’s mind cannot stop working in overdrive, conjuring a dozen daydreams and scenarios. It’s unfair. It’s very unfair. The way Angela Ziegler looks at her – appreciative, charming, and certainly _pleasant –_ is unfair. The way she looks in that damn red plaid shirt is unfair. _I’m so gay_ , she realises, which isn’t really _news_.  In this moment, Fareeha feels like the victim of a great cosmic joke.

 _Do you think_ , she can imagine a celestial entity saying in a pondering sort of tone, _that it would be funny if we made Angela Ziegler and cool and composed Fareeha Amari meet in the most unexpected of ways? Oh, yes, I think it would be. Watch as Fareeha’s mind goes to pieces. Haha! Isn’t that funny? Look at her, the great gay fool!_

“Do you?” Angela asks after several seconds.

Fareeha swears she sees a hint of red to Angela’s cheeks. _Do I what?_ That was right, they’d been talking about soccer. If Fareeha played. _Why is she blushing? Did I say something? No, I didn’t. So why, then, does she blush?_  “I do indeed,” she says eventually. “What position do you play?”

“I play centre forward. Striker, preferably. You?”

“Midfielder.”

“ _Ah_ , yes, I can see it.” Angela’s smile widens. “I hope that we both make it onto the team, then.”

And that would be…lovely, really. Another image of she and Angela running up-field together, achieving great victory and crushing ~~their enemies~~ the other team.

“So do I.” Fareeha manages to wrestle back control of her foolish, daydreaming mind, and gestures to the end of the corridor, where the stairwell is. “Were you heading downstairs before you leapt onto me and pinned me to the floor?”

Angela flushes, though she’s still smiling. “I was, in fact. I _am_ sorry about that.”

“It wasn’t so bad,” Fareeha assures. _Why is she blushing again? Is it me? No. Embarrassment, probably._ “Shall we?”

And so they make their way downstairs together, talking all the while. And it’s quite nice, really, talking to Angela.

Angela has already met her roommate – “She’s downstairs,” Angela says, “replacing all the wi-fi routers with her own. Jack told her that she _didn’t_ have to do such a thing, but she insisted.”

“That’s…she sounds dedicated to good internet.” Fareeha wonders how much money must go into that sort of thing.

“She is something of a passionate gamer, from what I have gathered. Have you met your roommate?”

“No. I have met her dumbbell set, however.”

“Oh – sounds promising.” There’s a moment where she thinks that Angela glances at her biceps. “I hope she’s nice.”

“So do I.”

Downstairs, Jack is walking across the hallway, no longer clutching a coffee cup, instead staring at a guidebook he holds open in one hand. Glancing up, Jack notices the two of them and smiles. Angela makes a face at him. He reaches over and ruffles her hair. She shies away, laughing, and fixes her ponytail.

“Hey, kid. All your clothes fit in your wardrobe?”

Angela lowers her hands. “I don’t have _that_ many,” she mutters, in the sort of way that really means, _I have a lot of clothes. I have so many clothes and a lot of people tease me about it._

“Ange,” he replies, raising an eyebrow, “I’ve never seen someone own so many plaid shirts.”

That’s a nice thought too. Fareeha finds herself pondering how many plaid shirts Angel owns. Red looks very nice on her, indeed, but blue and grey – to bring out her eyes – now _that_ would be a sight. _Why am I thinking like this? I’ve only just met her!_

That’s what happens when a very beautiful young woman straddles you and flirts with you, apparently.

Angela rolls her eyes. To Fareeha, she says, “Jack and I are cousins, I should tell you. That is why he _teases_ me so.”

The resemblance is easy enough to see: they both have same shade of blonde hair, the same ice-blue eyes, the same direct and knowing gaze.

“Sadly,” says Jack wryly. Fareeha snorts. Angela just laughs. “Fareeha, ready for that tour?”

“I sure am.”

Jack closes the guidebook. The cover is worn and stained, declaring, _THE RESIDENCE ADVISOR’S GUIDE TO STUDENT ACCOMMODATION_ in huge letters. “Alright. To your left just here is the common room….”

Within the common room, the green-haired young man is sulking in an armchair. He brightens upon seeing Fareeha enter the room. “Hey! You’re the person who saw me throw Hanzo’s stuff out the window, right?”

“Yeah. You nearly hit me.”

“Sorry! Gabriel chewed me out for it.” He grins. “I’m Genji, by the way. Freshman.”

“The whirlwind of destruction,” mutters Jack. He points at Genji. “Did you return your brother’s belongings to their rightful place?”

“Even made his bed.” Genji smiles an angelic smile. “And I _didn’t_ short-sheet it.”

 _That’s a hell of a sibling relationship_ , Fareeha thinks. She steps over and shakes his hand. “I’m Fareeha Amari.”

“Genji Shimada. I’ll try not to throw any more things at you.”

“Thanks,” she says wryly. “That would be great.”

Genji shrugs. Then he says, “I heard a really loud thump a few minutes ago. Like someone hitting the floor. Did one of you trip over?”

Jack mutters something about the hazards of old carpet. Angela says, “I _may_ have accidentally run into Fareeha upstairs and I _may_ have made the two of us fall to the ground, but no one was injured or straddled.”

Genji gives her an amazed glance and grins.

“Straddled?” asks Jack, raising an eyebrow.

“What?” Angela’s red again, and not looking at her cousin or Fareeha.

“You said straddled.”

Genji starts to laugh.

“No I didn’t,” Angela says quickly. “I _didn’t_ say that.”

“You did.” Jack looks at Fareeha. “Did she _really_ do that?”

“It was an accident,” Fareeha shrugs, smiling a touch awkwardly. “No harm done.” _You loved it_ , says the snide voice at the back of her brain.

Angela looks at Fareeha, finally. “I am very sorry about it,” she apologises, cheeks very red. Then she looks at her cousin. “Now, can we stop talking about how awkward I am?”

Jack ruffles her hair again. “It’s alright, Ange,” he assures, “you’ll find another way to embarrass yourself soon enough, I bet.”

Angela groans. Genji laughs. Fareeha wonders what’s in store for her.

She wonders what’s in store for all of them.

.

Jack takes her on a tour of the rest of the residence. There’s a large communal kitchen with a long dining table in it, big enough to seat all of the residents at meal times. At the front of the house are two rooms, one on either side of the hallway: the first is a sitting room, and across the hallway from that is a library which doubles as a study space. The third floor houses a handful of bedrooms, a storage area, and another study room. The second floor is all bedrooms and bathrooms.

It’s a nice place. A bit dated, sure, but Fareeha had never come here expecting to live in the lap of luxury. The paint is peeling in places and the carpet is worn. The windows are rattly, and Jack warns her that in winter, the residence is as draughty as anything. Some of the lights flicker. “There are rumours that the place is…haunted.” Jack shrugs. “I’ve never seen any ghost – if you want to know more, ask Mei.”

On her tour of the residence, she meets some older students who have been living at Adawe House for a while now. Gabriel Reyes, their sole law student, who kisses Jack on the cheek and shakes Fareeha’s hand. He has a quick sense of humour and a rich laugh, and is a fourth year like Jack. They’ve been dating since their first year at university, and really are quite adorable together. Reinhardt, the oldest student at twenty-six years of age, who declares that he will be baking a great many desserts and that Fareeha will have to try some. Mei Ling Zhou carries her heavy suitcase on one shoulder, and nearly crushes Fareeha’s hand when shaking it. Winston, who possibly doesn’t have a last name, and smiles the kindest smile Fareeha has ever seen.

Kimiko, Mirembe, and Singh are all gossiping up on the third floor. They’re third years, and pretty much inseparable, according to Jack. Bayless declares himself a walking wreck – muttering something about long layovers and delayed flights. Al-Farouk and Gerard are redecorating their room, and ask Fareeha whether she thinks fairy lights will look gaudy on the walls. “It’s all about the atmosphere,” Gerard says, while Al-Farouk plugs an iPod into an iPod dock and begins to dance.

“The two of them,” sighs Jack, “ _always_ dance. _Always_. Even when we try to take formal photos for the university yearbook, they’re dancing. You should see them when they get good marks.”

And she meets some other first years too. Hana Song, muttering about bandwidth and megabytes per second. She seems vaguely familiar, though Fareeha can’t think of why. Lena Oxton, with her head of messy hair and a cheerfully boisterous personality. Aleksandra Zaryanova, who engulfs her in a crushing hug when she hears that Fareeha is her roommate.

At about 6pm they gather in the common room for official introductions. Everyone drags the chairs and sofas into a circle, and they say who they are and what year they’re in. There are a few people Fareeha hasn’t met yet: Amelie-without-a-last-name, Jesse McCree, Torbjorn Lindholm, Satya Vaswani, Hanzo Shimada – who alternates between coolly ignoring his younger brother and flicking his ear.

Hana beams confidently when it comes to her turn to speak. “I’m Hana Song. I’m going to be eighteen in two months-”

“A _child_ , Jack?” laments Amelie. “How could this happen?” She’s a tall and elegant second year, and has draped herself over an armchair. She seems to like wearing dark clothes. With great betrayal in her tones, Amelie bemoans, “We will have to feed it in the mornings and walk it to class; we will have to make sure it gets enough exercise and does not get lost on campus. The alcohol will have to be hidden. So will the knives. Oh, we must keep it away from flames and large bodies of water – can it even swim? Who will take it to get its hair cut?”

Hana stares at her for a long moment and then laughs in delight. “Are you a fucking goth?”

Fareeha almost snorts. Gabriel cackles and laughs and claps his hands together. Satya seems pleased. Angela’s shoulders are shaking.

Amelie looks affronted. “Jack, it _curses_. Merde!”

“You _filthy_ hypocrite,” laughs Jesse McCree, his dusty boots resting on top of a coffee table. He’s a first year as well – he and Angela have been bonding over their shared major, English Literature.

“I am _not_ filthy. Your boots, on the other hand, are.” Amelie gives Jesse’s boots a disgusted look.

Meanwhile, Lena gives Amelie a _very_ interested look.

The introductions continue. When they’re finished, Jack and the other older students tell them about the clubs on campus. Satya Vaswani, an engineering student in her second year, is also the goalkeeper for the women’s soccer team, and is quite pleased when Fareeha, Angela, and Lena all voice their interest. Jesse wants to know where the nearest shooting range is. Genji declares that he has already joined a kendo club off-campus – there isn’t a club at the university – and Hanzo mutters something about injuries and foolish younger brothers.

Then there’s dinner, which is pizza. “Order from two places only,” Reinhardt instructs them, passing out cardboard boxes filled with heavenly, aromatic goodness. “From this little place called Crust on the edge of campus, or from the Pizza Palace storefront a few blocks into town. This pizza is from Crust. Good, yes?”

“And _don’t_ order coffee from Coffee Grounds,” Amelie says in disgust. “It is awful, and in truth bears more likeness to mud.”

“Buy from Bastion’s! I work there,” Mei confides. “And it _is_ good coffee.”

Amelie nods grudgingly. “It is.”

“The best bar on campus is Valhalla,” Gabriel tells them. “Angela, Jack’s given me strict orders _not_ to get you drunk, which means we are definitely getting drunk together.”

Angela grins. She has known Gabriel for a few years, apparently: they first met just after he started dating Jack. “I can’t wait.”

Jack just sighs. “Speaking of _drinking_ , you might hear a bit of noise tonight: that’s just the Lodgers celebrating one of their stupid traditions and getting all the first years wasted.” Reinhardt shivers. Satya purses her lips. Mei mutters, _oh, boy_.

“And on tradition,” says Gabriel, “we only have one tradition regarding first years on their first night here: you drink together, while the old and weary returning students go and catch up. So do that, if you want, but _please_ don’t go and run around campus with the Lodgers.” He winks. “If anyone starts howling in pain, I’ll come and see who’s been stabbed.”

“Stabbed?” asks Jesse eagerly. Angela looks excited too, leaning forward with wide, attentive eyes.

Mysteriously, Satya says, “It only happened three times last year. Now go and drink, and _don’t_ hang out of windows and shout insults at the postgraduates. That is Gabriel’s job. Begone!”

.

She calls her mother later. The conversation is quite lovely, and Ana warmly wishes her all the best, and asks for weekly emails. Quietly, Fareeha resolves that she will send emails at least four times a week, with photos included. Then she sits on her bed and talks to Aleks, who is so tall that her feet hang off the edge of her own bed. Outside, in the corridor, Genji sprints past and shouts for Hanzo to leave him alone. Hanzo, in pursuit with a nerf gun, shoots him mercilessly.

Angela, Lena and Jesse come to Fareeha and Aleks’ room bearing a bottle of some kind of golden liquor. “We went to the liquor shop just at the edge of campus,” Lena says when they invite the others in, “and it was a fucking _nightmare_. People everywhere, shouting and drinking. If that’s the Lodgers, then I’d rather be here with you lot.” With that, she has a swallow of the liquor, and passes the bottle to Angela, who is sitting on the ground next to Jesse, both leaning against the bookcase.

“The noise is unbelievable.” Aleks scowls at the window. “They sound like a pack of zombies.”

“Don’t they!” Lena shakes her head and laughs. “There’s a thousand students staying at the Student Lodge, and most of them are running around campus in togas and shouting mottos. I asked Jack about it, and he said that the Lodgers have some awful tradition of getting absolutely _wasted_ on their first night here. Not just the freshmen, but all the older students coming back.”

“Gabriel says,” Angela begins, taking the bottle from Jesse, “that if we wake up early enough tomorrow morning and go outside, we will have a good chance of seeing some Lodgers passed out in bushes all around campus.” She drinks a mouthful of the liquor and passes the bottle to Fareeha, who considers it curiously. “It’s vanilla Galliano,” she tells Fareeha. “Nice stuff.”

Fareeha has a sip and grins. It’s like…the gentle heat of summer, and the sweet scent of spring. Warm and pleasant. Vanilla flavoured, yes, but not overpowering. “Wow. _Wow_.”

“Jesse’s the one who suggested buying that,” Lena says, nodding at the bottle. “Ange wanted the most alcoholic thing—”

“I did _not_.”

“Then why were you reading the percentages aloud to us?”

“Out of curiosity!”

Genji chooses that moment to leap into the room, a nerf bullet in his hair. “I lost him, I think – he’s really mad about me messing with his stuff,” he pants. “Oh, you have alcohol? I think I have a bottle of rum somewhere-”

And then Hanzo’s standing in the doorway. “Brother,” he says, soft and dangerous. He raises the nerf gun. “Run no longer.”

“Please don’t shoot our stuff,” Aleks requests.

Genji grimaces. “Please don’t shoot _me_.”

“Shoot him,” urges Lena, who Fareeha thinks is something of an agent of chaos.

“ _Ryū ga waga teki wo kurau!_ ” The single nerf bullet hits Genji right between the eyes. Fareeha swallows a mouthful of vanilla Galliano and grins. Genji swears, and Hanzo disappears. The green-haired young man sinks to his knees and groans.

“He shot me.”

“He sure did!” cheers Lena, laughing and clapping her hands together in delight.

“There there.” Fareeha offers him the Galliano. “Have some alcohol and drown your sorrows.”

Hana comes to join them after livestreaming something. They drink together, the seven first years of Adawe House, and they learn about each other – yes, Jesse is wearing the belt buckle with BAMF engraved into it unironically; yes, Hana _is_ something of a celebrity – Lena googles her and the first result that appears is a Youtube video titled ‘ _Sujeonggwa + Chapsal Yakgwa Challenge,’_ a video with five million hits; no, Genji and Hanzo do _not_ really hate each other, but are polar opposites and Genji is, he himself admits, a little shit. Yes, Angela really _does_ have that many plaid shirts – “I counted twenty-three,” Hana says, “and she hasn’t even finished unpacking.”

And none of them are straight. “This is the _best_ squad,” Hana declares, after the declarations of _I’m gay!_ and _I’m bi!_ and _I’m pan!_ have stopped.

Fareeha glances at Angela and feels – well, _hopeful_ , and a bit pleased – and Angela meets her eyes and quirks her lips into a smile. There’s a fluttery feeling to Fareeha’s stomach. She knows it isn’t just the Galliano.

Later, everyone goes off to their rooms – Angela and Jesse carry Genji, who had brought his bottle of rum to the party and then drunk most of it. Hana skips along behind them, telling Angela and Jesse about something called _bungeoppang_ and how they will have to try it. Lena’s whistling cheerfully. Her roommate hasn’t arrived yet – Jack had mentioned something about a travel delay. Fareeha and Aleks get ready for bed, talk a little while longer, and eventually Aleks drifts off to sleep at 12:30.

Fareeha lays awake for a little while longer. Down the hall, Gabriel and Mei are laughing raucously. Then Al-Farouk and Lacroix begin to dance several rooms over, their feet tapping out a steady rhythm. Outside, the Lodgers are still partying strong, shouting and carousing and chanting. She smiles, tired but happy.

It’s nice here, at Overwatch University. At Adawe House. Everyone is kind and funny and a bit odd, yes, but _nice_. The campus is great. She can hardly wait for classes to start.

She thinks she’s really going to love it here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sujeonggwa = traditional Korean fruit punch made from persimmons and spiced with ginger and cinnamon. Served cold as a desert.  
> Chapsal Yakgwa = traditional Korean confection made from honey, wheat flower, and sesame oil.  
> Bungeoppang = Korean name of a pastry similar to the Japanese taiyaki. "bungeoppang" literally translates to "Crucian carp cake/bread". A pastry filled with red bean paste.
> 
> Leave a comment if you liked this fic!


	2. The Late (and New) Arrival; a Race; and a Ghost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all so very much for your response to this strange and bizarre university au! there's so much more to come - soccer try-outs, Halloween, holidays, exams, soccer matches, buildings burning down, epic nights filled with drinking and poetry, parties, papers, gym sessions, science experiments gone Very Wrong, Family Night - and a great many other things!
> 
> I intended for a lot more to happen in this chapter but I'll be keeping them around 4-5k, just for ease of reading. 
> 
> leave a comment if you enjoyed this!

The first week at Overwatch University passes by in a blur. Orientation Week is filled with a great many activities: meet and greets, parties, bands playing live, and lastly – and perhaps most importantly – introductory lectures for the various academic colleges and presentations on student life itself. There’s a lecture on study techniques, another on university life, and then a lecture called _SEX AND DRUGS AND THE EXUBERANCE OF YOUTH._ Fareeha and the other first years of Adawe House attend these lectures together – Hana and Lena gleefully Snapchat what is displayed on the projector screen at the front of the auditorium, Jesse and Angela and Genji elbow each other and giggle quietly, and Aleks asks Fareeha what weed is.

Fareeha, who has lived in twelve countries this far in her lifetime, and therefore has amassed a great wealth of knowledge in regards to slang terms, local customs, and regional memes, blinks and then laughs quietly.

“It’s a slang name for marijuana,” she explains.

Aleks’ eyes widen. “Mari – _oh_. The, ah, the ‘blaze it’ drug?”

“Yes.”

“Four-twenty!” hisses Hana in delight. She then takes another photo of the giant projector, which is currently displaying a picture of two young women smiling coyly at each other in a bar.

Fareeha winces.

Angela murmurs in a horrified tone, “They both have such long nails….”

“Yeah, my vagina just clanged right shut,” Lena says loudly, and then there’s silence right throughout the room, for everyone has heard her comment – even the lecturer. Over four hundred faces turn to look at Lena, who goes a strange shade of purple and awkwardly sinks down into her chair.

And then someone says, “is that _D.va_? D.va!”

An astonished murmur ripples through the crowd. Lena is forgotten in the face of something far greater and more legendary: D.va, the streamer, Youtuber, and blogger. D.va, who leapt to stardom at the age of sixteen by winning a Starcraft tournament.

“And my fame saves the day,” laughs Hana, and waves.

.

 _My vagina just clanged right shut_ becomes a university meme. Overwatch University has a student-only Facebook page, and the post: “‘My vagina just clanged right shut.” – unknown British first year,” ends up amassing over a thousand likes in half an hour.

Hana, apparently, had just started a video recording when Lena had spoken. And thus there is video evidence – Lena is not on-screen, but her accent and voice are unmistakeable if you know her – of Lena saying the now-infamous line.

Hana doesn’t tell Lena about this video, but she tells Angela, who in turn tells Fareeha and Jesse while the three of them are washing dishes that night.

“I’m just glad she hasn’t recorded _me_ sayin’ something stupid,” Jesse laughs, before bestowing Angela with a magnificent beard of bubbles.

.

Then comes Market Day, held on Friday, which is when all the university clubs and associations participate in an all-day market. According to Jack, in the wonderful days of old, Market Day was held in the middle of the week. Now it is on Fridays. A nice way to finish off Orientation Week, Fareeha thinks.

She, Angela and Lena sign up for the soccer tryouts. “We need some fresh blood in the team,” Satya, who stands at the stall for the women’s soccer club, tells them as she notes down their names, contact information, and their preferred positions. “Desperately.”

“Does anyone else from Adawe play?” asks Lena.

“No. I’ve been asking Mei to, but she keeps making excuses about research. Aleks wishes to concentrate on her gym sessions, which is fair enough, and Hana is very busy – running your own business and attending university while being a streamer seems to be an awful lot of work. Mirembe runs track and trains with javelin, Kimiko swims and runs track, and Amelie prefers to sulk and mutter about painting.” Satya sighs. “I wish Mei would play,” she murmurs.

Fareeha reckons that Mei would slaughter the opposition. Trample them into the ground, throw them around as though they were weightless, laugh at the way she crushes them. Fareeha gazes into the distance and daydreams of this magnificent sight. Then she realises that Satya is still talking, and snaps out of her daydream.

“…Talon, meanwhile, are hell on earth. They will cheat during games, and try to sabotage us beforehand.” Satya sniffs and places her pen on the table, adjusting it till it sits parallel to the book she was writing in a minute ago. “Last year, one attacked me with a bread knife before the quarter finals.”

“My gosh,” Lena murmurs. “That’s…excessive.”

“A knife.” That has Angela’s interest. She seems to have an interest in knives, weapons in general, and injuries. Yet _another_ of her endearing traits. “Really?”

“Yes! And, as it turns out, she wasn’t even _really_ attending university as a student. They lied about it.” Satya scowls. “We lost, of course. Our team hasn’t made it to the grand final in ten years.” She braces her hands against the table and leans forward. “But we will do it, this year. I have a plan.”

“What’s your plan?” inquires Fareeha.

“Symmetry and chaos.” Satya smiles a chilling smile. Then she smooths the sleeves of her shirt. “Reinhardt wants to see you at the baking stand. Have fun today. Do not join any clubs that meet at University Lodge. Once you step over the threshold of that accursed residence, you become…changed. Ask Amelie. And do not eat any muffins – you may get poisoned.”

.

Fareeha does not sign up to try out for any other sports teams. She feels quite content with soccer, and will be spending a great amount of time in the gym with Aleks. And Angela has offered herself as a running buddy, which is quite nice. _I will have to make sure my mind does_ not _wonder while I am running with Angela. If it does, I am likely to run right into a tree._ She wonders what Angela would do, if that happened. If she would be worried for Fareeha. If she would crouch over Fareeha, and caress her face very lightly, while murmuring soft reassurances….

 _My goodness_ , Fareeha tells herself firmly, _but I need to_ stop _daydreaming like a fool_! It’s hard, though, because Angela is being Angela – laughing and making witty comments, and brushing against Fareeha’s arm when she points at something in excitement.

Soon enough, Fareeha, Angela and Lena find Reinhardt at the baking stall, where Jesse is loitering and eying a tray of custard tarts hopefully.

“You have had three already,” says Reinhardt to Jesse when they arrive, sounding very stern. “There will be none left, at this rate.”

Jesse looks at a nearby stall selling muffins. The muffins do not look very nice – as Fareeha watches, a student picks one up and bites into it, crying out in pain. “No worries, Reinhardt,” Jesse laughs weakly. “I was thinkin’ about headin’ over there and-”

“Ha! _Ha_! Funny man – you want to die? Go on, eat one then.” Reinhardt folds his beefy arms. “You will come crawling back to my tarts, this I know.” He spots the three young women, and beams in joy. “You have come to try my tarts!”

They try the tarts and they really are wonderful – baked to perfection, with a sprinkle of nutmeg on the top. Lena mumbles something that sounds like _I’m experiencing pure ecstasy, mate_ , while Jesse’s stomach rumbles and he tries to pretend that he doesn’t want another tart.

“There’s a literature club somewhere around,” Angela tells Jesse, dusting off her hands. “Have you joined?”

“Not yet. Let’s go now!”

He seems glad for the distraction from Reinhardt’s tarts and off they go cheerfully, arm in arm, Jesse wearing his cowboy hat and his BAMF belt buckle, Angela in an _Overwatch University_ hoodie and her hair in a messy ponytail.

Fareeha chats to Reinhardt for a while, and helps him to run the baking club stall – soon enough they’ve made plans for a baking day, where she will do her best to teach him to make traditional Egyptian sweets and desserts, and he will teach her to make strudel and tarts and all sorts of wonderful things. He’s visibly excited for it, and Fareeha can hardly wait. _I must message mama and tell her – she will be very pleased, and no doubt she will make recommendations on what we should make_.

Angela and Jesse return soon enough. Lena has disappeared, of course – all morning she has been darting around the market, signing up for a dozen clubs and taking as many free things as she can. She has not put her name down for the track team, despite how speedy she is – _running in a straight line is so boring to me! I can’t bear it, yeah_? _Maybe I can’t run straight because I’m so gay, y’know? Ha ha ha!_

Angela and Jesse are thinking of going back to Adawe House, now, as it is lunchtime. They say goodbye to Reinhardt, and Fareeha goes with them. Students mill around the market square, and through the campus proper. The air is thick with laughter and music and conversation; Fareeha takes a few photos to send to her mother. Lena joins them, eventually, arms overflowing with free samples.

“Who wants a notebook? A calendar? I got these sandals, right, and I _know_ they look awful, but they were free!”

“Burn them,” Jesse suggests, regarding the sandals in horror.

“I’m going to _wear them_ ,” Lena declares, eyes gleaming with vicious delight.

.

Back at Adawe House, three suitcases and a heavy packing crate sit before the stairs up to the entry doors. Genji and Hana are outside – Hana, sipping a pink milkshake through a brightly coloured straw, and Genji drinking a bottle of Mountain Dew – and both are staring at the luggage with quizzical faces. Hana’s wearing rabbit slippers. Genji’s feet are only clad in mismatched socks. It’s fair to assume that they’ve finished at the market, and have decided to lounge around Adawe House for the rest of the day.

Then again, the two of them – Genji especially – dress rather eccentrically, at times. Fareeha’s seen Genji stumbling around Adawe House in the mornings wearing a bright green dressing gown, nearly the same shade as his hair. Hana is wearing a shirt that says _GIRL YOU SHOULD SEE MY GAMERSCORE_ , and wore a snapback that said _condensation._ to the markets this morning.

(Yesterday Hana had been wearing an absolutely awful knitted jumper with dog-like creatures on it. “Isn’t it awful?” she had asked gleefully. “See how disgusting it is? Isn’t it _ugly_?”)

Fareeha raises an eyebrow at them both.

Genji says, very quickly, “Nothing to do with me. New guy, apparently. Couriers just delivered his stuff. Told us not to touch it.”

“Is he here?” asks Lena, nearly dropping a bright yellow alarm clock as she shifts the mountain of objects held in her arms, in an attempt to get a better look at the pile of luggage.

“No,” sighs Hana. “He’s a freshman, like us, and no one knows anything about him. _I_ voted to open up the crate and see what’s inside, but Jack texted me and told me not to even dare.” She sighs again. “Is he psychic?”

“Kind of,” Angela laughs. She and Jack seem as close as siblings, really. “That’s why he makes such a good RA.” A pause. “Well, maybe our new housemate will arrive soon.”

And he does, jogging over and immediately apologising for where his luggage has been dumped. “A courier company took it from the airport and I _asked_ them to put it inside, if they could, but it’s just sitting here and I hope it hasn’t been a nuisance, I really do.” The young man grins at Hana. “Hey, Song, what’s up?”

There’s silence for a brief moment. Everyone seems to be about to introduce themselves – Jesse extends a hand, Genji steps forward, Angela smiles and—

“You could have _said_ ,” Hana suddenly rages, her voice loud and fierce. “We spoke on the phone last month! What the hell, dude? You knew I was coming here! Is this some kind of joke? Is this the ultimate _GG_? Well done, then! You got me so good! Well fucking _done_!”

“Whoa!” The young man holds up his hands and gives her a reassuring smile. And he has a positively _angelic_ smile, the sort of smile that reaches the eyes and makes them twinkle. “It was all very last minute – I wasn’t even sure I was going to get in, but I did! I didn’t want to let you down if I couldn’t get in…so I just kept it a secret.”

Hana considers this for a very long time. Then she says, “Wise move, Lucio.” And then, moving impossibly fast, she leaps at him and engulfs him in a hug. “I’m so glad you’re here!” she declares. “Lucio! Imagine all the fun we’re going to have! Imagine all the chaos we can cause!”

She laughs, and the sound is filled with chaos and wild joy. And Lucio laughs with her, and grins as broadly as a person can grin, and then they begin to dance and chatter about _parties_ and _streaming_ and _hosting gigs_ and _editing videos_.

.

Lucio is possibly one of the brightest and happiest people that Fareeha has ever met. Being in his presence is very pleasant – she feels at ease, and laughs and grins at his jokes and his stories about Hana. He has this wonderful sort of energy, and everyone likes him. It’s impossible not to, really.

He’s to be Lena’s roommate. Lena is quite happy about this, and even offers him some of the free items she had claimed from the market. A green alarm clock, a calendar, a journal, and half a dozen pens. Lucio accepts these cheerfully, though he eyes the free earphones sitting on her bed with something akin to horror.

Jack takes him on a tour of Adawe, after that.

“It’s so _wonderful_ ,” Lucio breathes, not seeming to notice all the scorch marks in the hallway on the third floor – Satya and Mei’s room is opposite Reinhardt and Winston’s room, and the stretch of hallway near these two rooms is referred to as the Danger Zone, given the frequency of smoke and small explosions. “I think I’m really going to like it here.”

Jack smiles awkwardly and leans over to shut the door to Mei and Satya’s room, which more resembles some kind of laboratory than an actual bedroom.

“I hope that you will.”

And then, from outside, comes the familiar sound of _Wuthering Heights_ by Kate Bush. Jack, Lucio, Lena, Hana and Fareeha (who somehow got dragged along on Lucio’s tour) all head to the third floor study room and look out the window there, rather curious as to what's happening.

On the stretch of lawn between Adawe House and Olympus House, perhaps a dozen students are wearing flowing red garments and dancing strangely to _Wuthering Heights_. Gerard and Al-Farouk are there, of course – but so are Angela and Mirembe and Amelie and Zarya – all waving their arms and bending from side to side and leaping around. Mei is recording the  entire thing on a beaten-up old camera, wheezing with laughter and wiping tears from her cheeks.

Fareeha blinks.

"Tradition," Jack informs them. "It happens about six times a year."

“Yeah,” Lucio says, and he’s grinning happily. “This is going to be _great_.”

.

Twitter Feed

**Olympus House** @officialolympushouse

**@officialadawehouse** Wuthering Heights re-enactment in 5 min? will bring biscuits.

 

**Adawe House** @officialadawehouse

**@officialolympushouse** we’ll bring the camera!

.

With Lucio’s arrival, Adawe House is at last complete. They have a party, that night, a fantastic party: Lucio DJs in his spare time, and Gerard and Al-Farouk absolutely tear up the dance floor. The music isn’t terribly loud, which is nice – conversations are still able to be easily held. Fareeha isn’t usually one for dancing, but Aleks booms, “Together we dance!” and drags Fareeha out into the cleared space of the common room. Lena is doing…something with fast movements, and Jesse and Genji appear to be _grinding_ , and even Hanzo and Winston are moving to the music.

So they dance. Lucio lets Hana DJ for a while, which isn’t too bad. Amelie saunters through the crowd and joins Al-Farouk and Gerard. Mei and Satya are dancing at the edge of the crowd while discussing course outlines in depth. Reinhardt and Torbjorn appear to be holding a riveting conversation about medieval warfare while tapping their feet in time to the beat.

Angela appears at Fareeha’s side and shouts, “I wanted to find you!”

Feeling brave, and sensing an opportunity to give Angela a taste of her own medicine, Fareeha leans in and says, with a hint of false confusion to her tones, “You want to fuck me?”

“ _What_?” Angela’s face is bright red. Quite literally. It clashes with her blonde hair and blue eyes. “I wanted to find you!”

Fareeha laughs. “I know. I’m joking. It was payback for straddling me at the start of the week.”

“I – oh.” Angela takes a step back and regards her. It’s an odd moment. Everyone else is dancing and the music is loud and rhythmic, and the two of them are still. Quiet. Waiting. Until Angela lifts her chin, and then says in a voice that is smoky and low, “Have you been thinking about it much?”

Fareeha’s heart does this funny little thing, and a sudden warmth spreads through her belly. “About…about, um….” How can someone’s voice be _smoky_? It’s like…oh, it’s warm and a touch rough and it makes Fareeha’s skin tingle.

And it’s unfair. Angela Ziegler is unfair.

“Um,” Fareeha says again, beginning to feel as though she might very well have been bested at her own game.

“When your hips were pinned under my legs. When I straddled you.” Angela advances a step, eyes bright and lips pulling back to reveal her teeth. “Do you think about it much? Because I do. I think about the way you looked at me. I think about the way that your breath caught in your throat.”

Swallowing, Fareeha tries to think of something – _anything_ – to say. _All the time_ , taunts a voice in her head. _I think about it all the time and I want to grab you by the shirt and drag you towards me and kiss you breathless and I wonder if you’re even real because you leave me floundering for words and you have no right to smile that smile at me and it’s so unfair that you have this effect on me_ _I’ve only known you for five days and the entire thing is just unfair_.

And then Angela’s gone.

Literally. Gone.

Fareeha looks around, searching for a head of blonde hair and a red plaid shirt, but Angela isn’t anywhere to be seen. She growls and clenches a fist. “Beaten at my own game,” she mutters. Clearly, playing _any_ sort of game with Angela Ziegler – and this game, especially – is a challenge. A dangerous challenge.

Then Gabriel’s standing next to her, a beer in his hand. “ _Wow_ ,” he says, slinging an arm around her shoulders. “So that was tense! Nice work, by the way. I’ve never seen her blush so much.”

She freezes.

“So she really did jump on you on the first day, huh? I thought Jack and the others were joking.” Gabriel sips his beer. “So. You going to say something?”

Fareeha’s quite sure that her mouth is open.

“No? Okay. Well, take a few breaths, get a drink from the kitchen, dance a little more. Angela’s probably outside trying to cool off. That’s some serious chemistry. You like her?” And then he’s looking at Fareeha.

“We…barely know each other.”

“Ah, to be young again. You know, it was only four weeks after Jack and I first met that I kissed him. Not that you should do that, you know.” He steps away, gives her a lazy salute. “I’ll be watching you, Amari. Watching you like a hawk, _si_? I love that kid like she’s my own sister. She’s going to be my sister-in-law in a few years, anyway.” There’s a strange smile on his lips. “Now, I’m not _threatening_ you. That’s ridiculous. I’m just saying that I’ll be watching, alright? Flirt with Angela! Hell, she’s flirting with you.” And then his eyes are like onyx, dark and glittering. “But I’ll be watching.”

“I hope you won’t be watching everything,” Fareeha shoots back, feeling quite confused by the course of this short conversation. _He…congratulates me, and then tells me he’s going to be watching?_ No wonder he’s studying law. She feels…confused. Unsettled. Annoyed.

Gabriel blinks. Then a slow smile spreads across his lips. “Shit. Let me get you a beer, alright? That was good.” And he’s laughing. “You’re alright, Amari. You’re alright.”

.

Surprisingly, it’s not awkward seeing Angela after their encounter. They encounter each other in the kitchen perhaps thirty minutes later, and both blush a little, but there’s a gleam to Angela’s eyes, and Fareeha gives her a challenging smirk.

It’s not like they’re looking at each other, and holding out their hands, and saying, “Game on.” No.

It’s an unspoken sort of thing.

An unspoken sort of challenge, written in Fareeha’s smirk and Angela’s bold gaze, and the chemistry between them.

.

Angela catches Fareeha’s eye, later on, while dancing with Amelie. And then she _bites her lip_ , damn her – how is that fair! It should be illegal! Angela Ziegler should _not_ be allowed to bite her lip while looking at Fareeha Amari but she _does_ , and it’s ridiculously attractive.

And so Fareeha manages to get a hold of herself – _somehow_ – and then winks back.

Angela’s eyes widen and her cheeks go bright red, and Fareeha feels rather pleased with herself.

.

Life at Adawe continues. The first week of classes begins. Fareeha has two days without class – Friday and Wednesday – which she is quite glad for. Tuesday classes begin at 8am and end at 6pm, though she has breaks between class where she can head back to Adawe for lunch and relax for an hour. Her lecturers seem alright, and her classmates are excited to begin their tertiary studies. Fareeha’s majoring in CTSI – Counter Terrorism, Security, and Intelligence – and minoring in psychology. She doubts that she will change her mind in regards to her major – she’s wanted to study CTSI since she was six, after all.

She goes for a run on Monday morning with Angela: it’s a good long run, and during their warm-down of walking back to Adawe, she and Angela speak quite a bit about why they both ended up at Overwatch University and about their families. Angela has lived with her grandparents since the age of thirteen – briefly, she says that her parents passed away in a car crash, and Fareeha senses it is not something she likes to talk about, which is understandable – and Fareeha tells Angela about her mother, Ana.

“She left the army when I was nine, and got a job with Helix Security International. It was hard leaving Egypt, but I had _ummi_ , and we always lived well.”

Angela smiles softly, reaching up to fix her ponytail. “That’s good to hear. Which countries have you lived in since Egypt?”

“France, at first, then Italy, Germany, Australia, New Zealand, Spain, Sweden, Scotland, Ireland, um.” Angela’s arm right flexes, and Fareeha cannot tear her eyes away from the sight of Angela’s bicep. She blinks, mouth suddenly dry. “Um. Brazil, Canada, and the United States. That’s where _ummi_ is now – she has a permanent stationing there.”

“So many!” Angela drops her arms to her side and Fareeha feels simultaneously relieved and saddened. Angela Ziegler is utterly _unfair_ , with her attractive face and attractive voice and her – her attractive _everything_. So unfair. Angela leans over to rub the side of one thigh, raising an eyebrow at Fareeha. “Did you like living in so many countries?”

“I loved it,” Fareeha says honestly. “I couldn’t pick a favourite, truthfully.”

It’s so _easy_ talking to Angela – when she’s not straddling Fareeha or biting her lip while gazing into her eyes or being stupidly attractive. Fareeha feels personally victimised, sometimes, and wonders if Angela is some kind of cosmic revenge for some terrible act she has unknowingly committed historically. She can almost imagine a cosmic deity saying, _ah yes, this will be Fareeha Amari’s comeuppance for the incident when she was five and stole an icecream from her cousin. And so now, as she embarks upon her tertiary education, she will have to battle with the fact that one of her housemates is incredibly bisexual and incredibly beautiful and keeps giving her those looks_. _You know, **those** looks. The ones charged with tension and promise and all sorts of wicked thoughts._

But it’s also easy, being around Angela. It’s…oh, it’s not really _that_ awkward, not after the whole straddling incident – and even that wasn’t terribly awkward, just…surreal.

It’s nice, being with Angela. Comfortable. Most of the time – when she isn’t making Fareeha blush and act like a fool.

And so the two of them walk back to Adawe, sweaty and flushed, with that post-running high surging through their veins. As they’re crossing the bridge over Athena’s Creek, Angela pauses to fix her shoelace, and Fareeha glances over her shoulder, just in time to see Angela looking up and giving her rear an appreciative glance.

“Have a good look,” Fareeha says airily, always glad to gain the upper hand in this nameless little game they’re now playing. Angela turns bright red and mutters something in her mother tongue.

“I was, ah – yes. Sorry. Um.”

“No – _have a good look_. I mean it.” Fareeha smirks tiredly, showing her teeth, and then skips along a few steps. “Race you to Adawe.”

“What?” Angela chokes out, clearly confused by the rapid shift in topic of conversation.

Fareeha takes off, laughing, stretching out her aching legs gleefully. A heartbeat later she hears Angela’s rapid footfalls – and Angela is _fast_ ; she can accelerate as swiftly and gracefully as a deer, which is a very handy attribute for a soccer player – and soon she’s level with Fareeha, head held high and eyes bright.

They’re halfway to Adawe House, and Fareeha somehow finds enough energy to push forward. _I might win this_ , she thinks, but then Angela’s edging past her as they turn down the short path leading to Adawe’s entry doors. The two of them thunder up the stairs, Angela a full stride ahead of Fareeha, and it’s Angela who slams an open palm against the closed door first.

Fareeha’s palm thuds into the wood a moment later. They’re both breathing quickly, now, and take a moment to regain their breath. Angela tucks that ever-errant strand of hair back behind her ear. Fareeha leans against the doorway

“I won,” announces Angela, a moment later.

Fareeha grins. “You’re a pervert.”

Angela coughs and splutters her way into Adawe House.

.

So. Class is good. The lecturers are alright. Tutorials will start next week. Monday and Tuesday are good days, and go quite well – though at dinner, which is a wonderful assortment of various cuisines and two-minute noodles, Hanzo and Genji argue loudly until Gabriel threatens to make them both sleep outside. Jack might be the RA, but Adawe House is _Gabriel’s_ , there is no doubt about that – he’s just simply too busy with his studies to take on the additional duties of being RA.

And then, on Wednesday morning, all of Adawe is awoken at 4am by the smoke alarm, which is set off for no apparent reason.

The first years are all quite confused. Mei, with a thick blanket draped royally around her shoulders, gazes up at the offending alarm and says loudly, “This always happens. Not to worry.”

The alarm shrieks and carries on. Amelie raises a modified nerf gun – which greatly resembles a sniper rifle – and fires off a bullet which hits the _off_ button, yet has no effect. Amelie scowls and curses in French. Gerard giggles, Reinhardt looks shocked, and Angela grins tiredly, her hands shoved into the pockets of her plaid hoodie.

(She even wears a plaid hoodie to bed. It’s ridiculous. It’s absolutely endearing and attractive.)

Winston, standing on a chair, manages to turn the accursed alarm off. Apologetically, he says, “We can’t remove it, unfortunately, because we’d get into a lot of trouble. We got it replaced last year, but….”

“It’s possessed,” Gabriel mutters darkly.

“Yes,” Amelie agrees, purple shadows beneath her eyes. There’s paint in her hair. She had been up till 3am painting, and is quite sulky about the rude awakening. “Possessed.” She scowls at Jack, and leans her rifle against one shoulder. “It is the ghost, I tell you.”

Jack looks even wearier than usual. “Enough about the ghost.”

“It is the ghost! I told you, we should call in a paranormal investigator, but you said _no_.” She then mutters something in French. Angela and Reinhardt, who both speak French (as well as German, and Swiss German, and a dash of other assorted European languages) blink in shock. Gerard, French like Amelie, giggles again.

Jack narrows his eyes. “Mei said that the ghost was friendly.”

“It is fucking with us, Jack! The ghost may be friendly to Mei, but it is _not_ friendly to some of us.”

Hana, who has not had any sleep yet, gives a tired and delirious grin and chants, “There’s something strange.”

Genji takes it up flawlessly. “In Adawe House.”

They beam at each other and chorus, “Who ya gonna call – _GHOSTBUSTERS_!”

Jack groans. “Just go back to bed. All of you. The alarm is off, some of us have class in four hours – and some of you haven’t even _slept_.” He gives Hana a pointed look. “Go to bed.”

“Yes, _ahjussi_.” She salutes him sarcastically and ducks out of the kitchen, sniggering her way upstairs.

The others head back to bed. Fareeha finds herself walking upstairs by Angela’s side, and asks curiously, “How _do_ you get any sleep, sharing a room with Hana? The light from her computer must be annoying.”

Angela shrugs. “I could sleep through the apocalypse. I also nailed a curtain to the ceiling to block off the light.”

Behind them, Jesse asks, “Won’t you get in trouble for that?”

“Yes, so _don’t_ tell Jack. He was so stressed when he found out that Genji had been throwing those metal stars into the wall, remember?”

They all giggle at that, remembering how Genji had sheepishly apologised while Jack had pressed his hands to his face and whispered about plaster and house inspections and  _goddamned first years who think they're damn ninjas, what the hell, why would you do this, are you trying to kill me?_

They all make it back to bed, eventually, but it’s hard to get to sleep after such a rude awakening.

“So,” Aleks prompts, lying on her side to face Fareeha. “The ghost. Have you encountered anything supernatural while you’ve been here?”

Fareeha, staring at the ceiling, shrugs. “Nothing.” _Not other than Angela,_ she thinks to herself wryly, and finds herself smiling faintly. “You?”

As though she is talking about the weather, Aleks calmly says, “I encountered an apparition yesterday morning, in the common room. A woman. I thought I was seeing things, but now I wonder….”

Fareeha glances over sharply. “Are you serious?” Aleks nods, the movement visible even in the gloom of their room. “What the _fuck_. Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“I thought I was seeing things,” Aleks repeats. “I had just woken up. Was tired. And hungry. Sometimes I see things when I am hungry.”

“What the – this place cannot _really_ be haunted. Can it?” Fareeha rubs her eyes with the palms of her hands and groans. “I mean, I don’t really believe in ghosts, but Mei seemed so sure of it…and the others too.” She shivers, suddenly feeling unsettled. “This is so fucked up. I thought university was the last place that I would encounter this kind of thing.”

Aleks makes a sound of agreement. “So far,” she murmurs, “university has been far stranger than I had expected.”

Fareeha yawns and replies with, "I agree with you there. It's a good kind of strange though, don't you think?"

"As long as no one is, ah,  _possessed_."

Fareeha groans. " _Don't_ say that."

"Ooo _oooo_ ooh."

Fareeha throws one of her pillows across the room. Aleks laughs and thanks Fareeha for it. 

And they fall asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!


	3. That One Time Amelie Went Rambo; More Flirtations; and Soccer Tryouts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gravehelm.tumblr.com if you have any questions or just wanted to talk! thank you all for your response to this fic: it's an absolute pleasure to write!

.

The morning of the very rude smoke alarm awakening, Fareeha goes downstairs for breakfast at 7am, and finds Jesse and Angela drinking coffee and staring down at a course outline. Jesse’s hands are trembling. Angela is massaging her temples and grimacing. She sends Fareeha a pained-yet-warm smile in greeting. Fareeha returns the expression sympathetically.

“Three textbooks just for one course,” Jesse murmurs, his voice strangled. “Damn me. Damn literature. Damn lecturer. _Three.”_ He gulps down more coffee, unaware of Fareeha’s presence. “What time does the campus bookshop open?”

“Seven thirty. We might be able to get some pre-owned copies….”

“…and get them cheap. Ziegler, you’re a _genius_.”

Suddenly they’re both on their feet, draining their coffee cups and picking up their backpacks. Then the two of them dash into the hallway and out of Adawe House, the double doors slamming loudly behind them.

“Goodbye,” Fareeha says to the now-empty kitchen. _I hope they ate breakfast_ , she thinks. She glances down at the course outline and notes that it’s a second year course, and shakes her head with a sigh.

It’s probably a good thing that they love literature as much as they do. It looks to be a heavy course – they have to write a precis for one of the books, and two essays – one three thousand words, one five thousand – and then there are the tutorials, where not only attendance is marked, but participation too.

Then again, they’re both exceedingly passionate about the subject – it’s one of the reasons Jesse and Angela spend so much time together, discussing authors and texts and themes, and reciting poetry at each other while howling with laughter. _Here’s some Tennyson for you_ , Jesse had laughed, a few nights ago, before leaping onto Genji’s bed and declaring:

 _“On either side the river lie_  
_Long fields of barley and of rye,_  
 _That clothe the wold and meet the sky;_  
 _And thro' the field the road runs by_  
 _To many-tower'd Camelot;_  
 _The yellow-leaved waterlily_  
 _The green-sheathed daffodilly_  
 _Tremble in the water chilly_  
 _Round about Shalott_.”

Fareeha certainly hopes that Jesse and Angela will be able to handle the stress of a second year subject, but then she smiles and nods, and thinks, _if anyone can, then it is them._

Then Fareeha sets about making herself breakfast. She fills the jug and turns it on, and grabs an apple to eat while preparing her muesli. Satya comes downstairs with an armful of engineering textbooks and places them upon the table – the books are so heavy and thick that Fareeha swears she hears the table groan.

“Good morning,” greets Satya, looking rather tired – none of them have slept peacefully, given the fire alarm going off at a ridiculous hour. “Who slammed the door?”

“Angela and Jesse,” Fareeha tells her. “Off to get textbooks.”

“Ah,” Satya sympathises. “That’s where Singh and Bayless are. Did you manage to get much sleep?”

Fareeha yawns into one hand. “Some.” Then she raises her eyebrows. “By the way…s it true, about the ghost? Or is it just a trick you’re playing on us first years? I know Jack doesn’t believe it.”

“We don’t play tricks on the first years. Not since Amelie went all _Rambo_ last year.” Satya’s lips press into a thin line. “We don’t talk about that either.”

“Rambo? What? _What_?” She stares at Satya with widening eyes, the ghost forgotten for now. “Amelie… _really_?”

Amelie! Amelie certainly was sulky and moody, but Fareeha had thought that was part of her _tortured artist aesthetic_ , along with the sad French music and the dark clothes and the long-suffering sighs.

Satya nods matter-of-factly. “I had to knock her unconscious, in the end. Campus security came to ask about the screaming and Gabriel lied marvellously. Had them eating out of the palm of his hand. It was all because she went into University Lodge for a club meeting, you see – we told her not to go there, but then she did.” She sighs softly. “That was the first stabbing of the year, the night Amelie snapped.” Then her face hardens. “I have said entirely too much. Forget that I said anything.”

“I will never be able to forget ‘Amelie went all _Rambo_ last year,’ Satya.” She has to know the truth. A _stabbing_? Who had Amelie stabbed? Or had someone else been the attacker? What on _earth_ had happened that night?

Satya nods again. “Understandable. I _really_ shouldn’t say anything else, though. Now. Onto the ghost.”

“Right,” Fareeha says, clearing her throat, still rather amazed and confused by the Amelie-went-Rambo revelation. “The ghost. Is it real?”

“Yes.”

Fareeha groans. “You’re _kidding_.”

“I should elaborate: it’s real if you believe in spirits. Do you?”

“I don’t know,” Fareeha replies, feeling rather odd about having a conversation at 7:10am about whether she believes in ghosts or not. She rubs her neck and shrugs. “I’ve certainly never had any weird…encounters.”

“You might, now. How do you feel about that?” Satya raises one perfect eyebrow and waits.

“I don’t know – nervous? How does everyone else feel?”

“Ask Mei,” Satya says mysteriously, before beginning to make her breakfast.

Then Kimiko and Genji trot into the kitchen, chatting in Japanese loudly, and Reinhardt is thundering downstairs, and Gerard and Lucio are singing above, and Mirembe is shouting at Torbjorn and someone’s alarm is wailing, and all of Adawe is awake.

.

Fareeha decides not to ask Amelie directly about the…incident last year.

Just in case _she_ ends up getting stabbed.

Still, though. She thinks about it, and wonders what happened.

.

University is a strange, strange place, and Adawe House is stranger still: they had three incidents of a resident being stabbed last year, the residence itself is haunted, apparently Hanzo likes to mope around up on the roof at night, Torbjorn once tried to repair the toaster and made it explode instead, there’s an entire shelf dedicated to occult books in the library, Mei and Satya have a miniature laboratory in their room, and small explosions can constantly be heard from Winston and Reinhardt’s room.

It’s strange, but she really likes it here. Fareeha thinks that soon enough she will come to love Adawe House and all its eccentricities fiercely.

For now, though, she likes it well enough, and resolves to avoid being stabbed – by Amelie and anyone else.

.

Jesse and Angela return victoriously at lunch, bearing dog-eared and worn books that they bought second-hand. “We had to fight for ‘em,” Jesse says, already making two cups of coffee. “Angie got elbowed in the ribs. Oh! It was a mighty blow.”

Fareeha sends Angela a worried glance. Angela just laughs. “I’m fine. How has your day been?”

“Unproductive. I had a nap, and watched Hana edit some videos.” Hana’s off at class now, wearing her _condensation._ cap and a jacket that Fareeha is fiercely jealous of. It’s brown leather, heavy and old, the sort of jacket that’s ideal for motorbike riding. Fareeha finds herself regarding it longingly whenever Hana wears it, and thinks that she should perhaps find one of her own. “How was class?”

“Good!”

“ _So_ good,” declares Jesse. “Our professor – Professor Wu – he’s as sharp as anything. Got a real nice sense of humour. Knows his stuff.”

Hanzo, who is eating lunch with Winston at the long dining table, dryly says, “You would expect him to know his _stuff_ , given that he is a professor at Overwatch University.”

Jesse’s lips curl up into a smirk. “Your sarcasm is so cute, sugar.”

Hanzo’s eyes widen. Winston chokes on the banana he is currently eating and coughs into his hand.

Angela and Fareeha trade meaningful glances, both raising their eyebrows and biting back smiles. Jesse returns to making the cups of coffee. Hanzo stares at his back, brow furrowed, as though Jesse is some manner of puzzle to work out.

So.

Maybe there’s going to be something there, between Jesse and Hanzo.

It’s funny, sometimes, how you can look at two people who have only just met, and based upon a handful of interactions between them that you have observed, you can say, _there’s chemistry here._

Gabriel certainly picked up as much between Angela and Fareeha, after all.

.

Hana streams every second night, uploads two Youtube videos each week, and runs a Tumblr blog with seventy-thousand followers. She also helps to manage her own store, filled with official D.va merchandise – hoodies, snapbacks, shirts, slippers all emblazoned with her logo, which is a rabbit head with a vicious grin. It’s a ridiculous amount of work, and then she’s _also_ a fulltime student.

And Hana seems to _thrive_ under the pressure.

With the permission of the other Adawe residents, she tweets and Instagrams and Snapchats their antics. She blogs about the strange things they get up to. She makes weekly _Life Update_ videos, and her housemates feature in the background.

“ _And here_ ,” says Hana, focusing her camera on a yawning Jesse McCree, “ _is our very own cowboy. Say howdy, Jesse! Say something like a cowboy would!”_

 _“I don’t fuckin’ say that nonsensical shit, Hana_!”

“ _You just – you just said – do you even realise—”_

 _“Get the hell outta here_! _Dammit, Hana!”_

Angela’s quite prominent in these media updates, given her position as Hana’s roommate – Wednesday night, Hana uploads a photo of Angela sleeping at their desk, with the caption, _She Sleeps_ followed by several heart-eyes emojis. The response is overwhelming. Hana’s followers declare that Angela is cute, and indeed very sleepy, and that she looks good in plaid. They ask if she is single.

Hana and Angela laugh and giggle about it. Fareeha feels oddly grumpy about people asking if Angela’s single.

 _She’s not your girlfriend, anyway_ , she tells herself sternly, later on. _You’ve only known each other for over a week. You don’t have any right to feel angry when people ask if she’s single. That’s ridiculous and weird._

 _But she straddled you_ , that snide little voice from the back of her mind delights in reminding. _And she said those things, remember? At the party. And you’ve been flirting with each other. She stared at your ass._

 _Shut up,_ Fareeha thinks crossly. She knows _that_. She thinks about that all the time! She _hardly_ needs to be reminded that she caught Angela staring at her ass – and then she remembers the delighted thrill that had run through her body, when she’d turned to see what had caught Angela’s gaze.

Catching someone checking you out can be awkward, at times. But when it’s someone that you like? It’s an amazing sort of feeling. A sort of triumphant thrill.

She feels a little less cross, after that, and mutters, “She hasn’t checked any of _you_ out, anyway,” while thinking of Hana’s followers who seem greatly interested by Angela. “ _Ha_!”

“Pardon?” asks Aleks, who is just stepping through the doorway of their room. “Who is checking out who? What?”

“Nothing,” says Fareeha. She glances down at the watch she wears. It’s 4:12pm, and Aleks has just gotten back from class. “Fancy going to the gym?”

“If you box with me, yes. My biology professor is…what is the word…vexing? Yes, vexing.” Aleks scowls. “I need to punch someone. Might as well be you.”

Fareeha just laughs.

.

d-va.tumblr.com

Anonymous asked:

    D.va!! tell us about Angela! who is she?

 **D-va** answered:

    A giant fucking nerd who reads Tolkien all the time and only wears flannel and plaid

**Datboiismyking** asked:

    Can you ask Angela to be in more videos?? And streams??

 **D-va** answered:

    No she’s a fucking nerd ok she’ll just talk about Beowulf and soccer and girls and plaid and how nice old books smell (I live with her I Would Know what a nerd she fucking is)

Anonymous asked:

    Does Angela have tumblr?

 **D-va** answered:

    no omfg you’re all so thirsty for her bi ass

 

Anonymous asked:

    is Angela single?

 **D-va** answered:

    That’s it I’m fucking deleting!!!

.

“Why do they like me so much?” asks Angela, largely unaware of how very _lovely_ she is. It’s Thursday evening, and she’s been shopping at the local convenience store with Jesse and Genji, and the three of them have returned bearing boxes of discounted snacks – many of which are past their use-by dates, but they are all university students, and do not really care about such matters. And then, so much like her namesake, Angela presses a bar of good Swiss chocolate into Fareeha’s hand and smiles warmly.

“I wonder why?” asks Fareeha wryly, before thanking Angela for the chocolate.

“It’s because you’re so weird,” supplies Hana cheerfully. She’s eating bungeoppang and reading a chapter from her Intro to Anthropology textbook. “They eat that shit up.”

“So _that’s_ why you’re so successful!” Genji exclaims.

All of them are gathered in Fareeha and Aleks’ room. Aleks is currently at a late lecture, Lena is at a tutorial, and Lucio is attending a seminar on volunteering opportunities overseas. And thus only Fareeha, Angela, Hana, Genji and Jesse are gathered in the room – Jesse and Genji both sprawled across Aleks’ bed, Hana sitting at the desk reading, Fareeha sitting upon her own bed, and Angela making her way around the room, gifting everyone with chocolate and lollies and punnets of berries.

“Exactly. And it’s why they love all you,” Hana laughs. She winks at Jesse. “Especially you. Someone called you _Cowboy Daddy_ in the comments of my latest Youtube video.”

Jesse seems greatly pleased by this. “Now that’s just the best thing I’ve heard all week. I’m gonna put that on my resume. _Jesse McCree, university student, Cowboy Daddy_.”

Fareeha nearly chokes on her chocolate bar. Angela snorts. Hana laughs and says, “Who knows? It could get you hired.”

“What about Fareeha?” Genji asks suddenly.

The others all look at Hana, who considers this thoughtfully. “You haven’t been in my videos much, yet,” she apologises to Fareeha, “but I _did_ see a comment that said: _that girl has muscles for daysssss_.”

Fareeha finds herself smirking.  She glances over and catches Angela’s gaze, and her smirk widens.

Angela flushes.

And it’s another point to Fareeha in the nameless game of flirtation that they are playing.

.

There’s a wonderful sense of camaraderie and friendship that fills Adawe House. Prior to her arrival at university, Fareeha had been hopeful to make a handful of friends at most.

Instead, she has made many more. There are people she talks to in lectures and tutorials, of course, but most of them do not live on campus. She sees them for a few hours each week and they chat about university and complain about lecturers and discuss coursework.

The other residents of Adawe, though, she sees every day. At breakfast, sometimes at lunch, and always dinner. Gabriel does not like it if anyone misses dinner. They study together, they watch television and play board games, and they talk about everything. The common room is always filled with conversation and laughter.

Everyone adores Hana, of course. She is witty and funny and the youngest, which means everyone dotes on her – she bears it well enough, rolling her eyes when Gabriel asks if she’s dealing with her coursework and if she needs any help. _Yes, I’ll tell you if I need help. Thank you, though. I mean it_. Hana makes a video in regards to how adored she is by the other Residents of Adawe: ‘I Came to University and Gained 30 Family Members’.

And everyone adores Lucio, of course. He is so kind and warm and _funny_ that it is impossible not to like him. He’s the sort of person that makes other people want to be better. And that’s a fantastic quality for a person to possess: Fareeha knows that Lucio will generate _change_ when he graduates, wherever he goes and whatever he does, he will generate change and it will be a good change, a change for the better.

Jack and Angela are cousins, of course, but act like siblings in so many ways – bickering over breakfast and annoying each other terribly and looking after each other. Gabriel and Jesse have become quite close, and spend a lot of time talking about war movies and guns and espionage. Reinhardt loves everyone equally, or so he says, but he seems to have a soft spot for Angela and Lucio. Al-Farouk and Gerard are barely apart, and are almost always dancing – even when insulting the post-grad student who comes to ask for a cup of sugar one morning, Gerard and Al-Farouk are dancing, clapping their hands, chanting, “ _we’ll give you some sugar, boy, we’ll give you some sugar_.” Fareeha’s never seen two individuals dance so much. They are on the university team, apparently, and are going to, “tango up a storm,” at the regional competition this year, or so they say.

(She believes it. She really does.)

Satya and Mei plot and smirk and talk about things that few others understand. Kimiko and Mirembe and Singh are rarely apart – the three of them even share a room, having managed to garner the approval of the university residence advisory board. They have a bunkbed, a rickety old thing that Mirembe claims to have fallen off at least a dozen times. “Once,” she says, with a dreamy look in her eyes, “I fell, hit my head on the bookcase and knocked myself out.”

“I thought she was dead,” adds Kimiko. “Singh and I started to shout and scream. Jack burst into the room and fainted. Gabriel ran in and tripped over Jack. Then Mei charged in, grabbed Mirembe, and carried her to the campus clinic. While wearing a fluffy pink dressing gown. In the middle of winter.”

Fareeha gives an amazed sort of laugh. “Really?”

“Oh, yes. Gerard has photos,” Singh affirms. Then he says, wryly, “If Mirembe’s neck had been broken, then she could have died….”

“Pity.”

“Mhmm.”

Mirembe fondly rolls her eyes at her roommates and says, “But my neck _wasn’t_ broken, and I still sleep in the top bunk, challenging death every day.”

“So dramatic,” laughs Kimiko. “How brave she is!”

Fareeha smiles, thinking how lovely it is that the three of them are so close.

There’s a wonderful sense of camaraderie and friendship that fills Adawe House. Fareeha and Aleks have become very good friends, and Fareeha gets along excellently with Hana and Genji – all the first years, in fact, get along marvellously.

Fareeha really _is_ very glad to live at Adawe.

.

It’s Friday night. Fareeha’s reading a paper on security practices in the Pacific, rubbing her neck and sighing quietly; chewing on the end of her pen. It’s a long paper for an introductory course – forty pages – and the writing itself is quite dense. The paper certainly isn’t easy reading. A headache is slowly but surely forming at the back of her head, and she considers tearing the sheets of paper up – but that wouldn’t help, of course.

Then Angela quietly brings her a cup of hot chocolate, squeezes her shoulder, and leaves the downstairs study without a word.

The hot chocolate is warm and delicious. She can still feel the light caress of Angela’s fingers on her shoulder, and she smiles as she curls her fingers around the mug.

Later, she sticks her head into Angela and Hana’s room – Hana is streaming, and Angela is stretched out on her bed, watching Hana contentedly – and she asks of Angela, “What’s your typical coffee order?”

Angela smiles to see her, and then says, “Cappuccino with one sugar, skim milk – why?”

“No reason.” Fareeha grins tiredly. Hana laughs and says something in Korean to the webcam. “Thanks for the hot chocolate, by the way.  I thought I was going to tear that paper into pieces, until you came and gave me the drink.”

Angela’s eyes are twinkling. “I’m glad that I could help to save it, then. Are you running, tomorrow?”

“Bright and early.”

“See you at six, then.”

Fareeha winks and leaves.

.

At 5:30am Fareeha slides out of bed and dresses quietly. She sneaks out of Adawe and breathes in the crisp morning air – it’s a misty morning, and campus looks as beautiful as ever, if not a touch more ethereal and mysterious. Smiling, she takes a photo, and sends it to her mother.

Then she sets off towards the campus hub at a light jog. It isn’t far, and only a handful of people are around – some joggers and cyclists, a few people walking dogs, several students staggering back to their residences, either in a walk of shame or still drunk. Two people are standing outside University Lodge, trying to gain access to their infernal home. She shakes her head and continues on.

Bastion’s, that lovely little café where Mei works, opens early most mornings (it is rumoured that Bastion, an ageless sort of individual, never sleeps.) Fareeha is the first customer of the day, and she orders two coffees – a cappuccino with one sugar and skim milk, and an expresso. Then, a paper cup of coffee in each hand, she heads back to Adawe.

She doesn’t have to wait long before Angela trots down into the kitchen, their arranged meeting place for their runs. Angela, bravely wearing only shorts and a t-shirt – she is, of course, much more acclimatised to the cold than Fareeha is – yawns out a cheerful greeting before staring at the coffee cups with wide eyes.

Then, gratefully, she says, “You _shouldn’t_ have,” and immediately reaches for the cappuccino. Angela swallows a mouthful and groans in appreciation. “You are fantastic, you know that?”

“Mm, yes, but I always like to hear you say it.”

Angela laughs and smiles. “Thank you,” she says. “Really.”

Fareeha hides a smile by swallowing some of her own coffee, and then replies with, “I was just returning the favour.”

"I appreciate it," Angela tells her. "I really do."

.

She does not catch Angela sending any appreciative glances towards any parts of her body during their run, but there _is_ an amusing and awkward incident.

They’re on the home stretch of their run, cutting across one of the many parks on campus, when Angela trips over an unseen branch. Fareeha crashes into her, and down they go, slamming into the dew-laden grass, the force of their landing knocking the breath from their lungs. Fareeha lands on top of Angela, and ends up with her face pressed into Angela’s neck.

They’re both very still for a long moment. Angela gasps in a breath. Fareeha groans and remembers how to breathe. _That’s_ a bad decision, because then she’s breathing in the scent of Angela – deodorant and fresh sweat and shampoo.

Fareeha groans again. It's unfair. Ridiculous. Angela Ziegler is unfair. 

Why does this keep  _happening_?

Then, panting and amused, Angela says, “This is so hot. Wow.”

Fareeha grimaces. “Shut-up.”

“Don’t agree? You’re the one breathing into my neck.”

Fareeha sighs, and rolls off Angela and onto her back. Dew soaks through her jumper and chills her skin. She shivers. “You alright?”

“I’m great,” Angela laughs. She sits up, stretching, and glances down at Fareeha. “You?”

“Mm.” Fareeha stretches out her limbs. There’s no real pain. “Yeah.” She looks at Angela, who is flushed and sweaty and as beautiful as ever. “You’ve got grass in your hair.”

Angela reaches up and runs her fingers across her hair, completely missing the blade of grass above her left ear. Fareeha sits up and reaches out, gently plucking the grass from the blonde strands, then tucking a wayward wisp of hair behind Angela’s ear.

Then, realising what she’s done, she yanks her hand back. “Sorry,” she says quickly, thinking that she’s gone too far, perhaps. “I….”

“It’s alright.” Angela’s eyes are soft in the pre-dawn light, and her lips are curving gently. “I don’t mind.”

.

They walk back to Adawe, their clothes soaked with dew and sweet, and it’s not _too_ awkward between them, all things considered. They talk, and they laugh about the whole falling-over-and-Fareeha-landing-on-top incident, but they don’t mention Fareeha tucking a wisp of Angela’s hair behind one ear.

Still, though. She catches Angela looking at her in a soft, considering way.

Fareeha gives Angela several considering looks of her own.

.

The soccer tryouts, held in the second week, go fairly well. Angela, Lena and Fareeha all earn places on the team – and easily, too. A mock game is held during the three-hour-long tryout session, and Fareeha, Angela and Lena all end up on the same team.

And they wreak _havoc_. They all have very compatible playing chemistry – and this is such an important thing: the ability to recognise what your teammate is doing easily, the ability to read and interpret their body language and the way they look at the field. Fareeha is a midfielder, Angela is playing as their striker, and Lena is in her favoured position of left winger. They’re simply _marvellous_ – passing the ball around, weaving through the opposition, setting up and assisting with good, solid goals.

And so they earn their places on the team. Laura Whitehill, who is captain, congratulates them absentmindedly and trots off the practice field with her phone pressed to her ear. Satya sighs and says that this is normal. Fareeha has already gathered that Laura is not the greatest captain, given that Satya has run the tryouts with the aid of Moira McKinnon while Whitehill has giggled at her phone for the most part.

Rounding out the team is an eclectic assortment of players. The Harper twins from Australia, Tessa and Grace – long-legged and grey eyed and always cracking jokes. Moira McKinnon, who is very Scottish, a second year studying ancient history and archaeology. Maria Agosti, who moved from Italy to this country at the age of twelve, and blushes when Moira teases her about her girlfriend. The very relaxed Eska Larsen from Norway, who skateboards and has a magnificent sleeve of tattoos. Camila Ferreira, a law student with very speedy feet and the ability to make anyone else smile. A handful of others whose names and appearances do not stick in Fareeha’s mind. That matters not: she’ll learn them soon enough.

When the tryouts are finished, Satya tells them that practice is on Wednesday and Sunday nights. Then they pack up the gear, sweaty and tired, and mingle. Angela and Satya carry the bags of gear back to the gym, and Fareeha and Lena wait back at the practice field with the others.

“Hey, Oxton,” says one of the Australian twins. It’s Tessa – she has an undercut, Grace doesn’t – and she’s holding a ball under one arm. It’s her own ball, obviously – the practice ones have already been packed and taken away by Satya and Angela. Tessa grins, and it’s a lazy grin, slow and slightly lopsided. “You that vagina meme student?”

Lena goes that strange shade of purple. Fareeha bites back a snort. Lena stammers out, “I – what?”

“Yeah!” says Grace, striding over to join them. “We were in that lecture, and the voice _did_ come from your direction.”

“And you’re a Brit. That’s okay, we still like you.”

“And you’re gay – or so you keep saying.”

Lena chokes. Under the keen grey-eyed gazes of the twins, she falters and crumbles apart. “I…might have… _listen._ It was never meant to be so loud. You can’t tell anyone else it was me. My life here will be _ruined_. I’ll never be known for anything else!”

Grace shrugs. Tessa drops the ball, flicks it up with one foot, and Grace catches it without looking.

“We won’t tell anyone,” begins Tessa, eyes gleaming, “if you say it.”

“No,” begs Lena, shaking her head vigorously. “Please. I _die_ whenever I read that post on Facebook. Hana makes me read it at least three times a day.” And Hana does, with a savage kind of glee. “Don’t make me do this.”

“Say it.”

“No! Do you have any idea how _embarrassing_ it is? Do people ever ask you to say weird shit like that?”

“Mate,” Grace laughs, “we’re _Australian_. People go nuts over the accent. They always want us to say, _g’day, mate_ or _have a good one_ or _how’s it going_? So yeah, we know.”

“We know,” agrees her twin sagely. “Now, say it.”

Lena groans and runs both hands through her hair, making it stick out in every direction. “Will you leave me alone if I do?”

Grace smirks, spinning the ball in one hand. “No. Say it anyway.”

Lena sighs heavily. Then she clears her throat, and says softly, “My vagina just clanged right shut.”

A moment of silence. Then the twins roar with laughter, so loudly that Camila comes over, curious as to what has them laughing so fiercely.

“Nothing,” chortles Tessa. “She just keeps saying how gay she is, y’know?”

“Ah, Lena.” Grace claps her upon the shoulder. “You’re a good one.” She throws back her head and laughs. "That was brilliant. Ah, c'mon, Tess."

Then the twins amble off, tossing the ball back and forth, before gathering their things and going to catch the bus – the two of them live off-campus, in a rather wild share-house, apparently. Camila shakes her head and returns to her conversation with Moira, leaving Fareeha and Lena alone.

Lena groans and sighs. “That’s going to haunt me forever, isn’t it?”

“Maybe,” Fareeha says, which isn’t the most _comforting_ thing to say. “It might fade into obscurity.”

“You know it won’t.”

It _is_ an iconic sort of line. Still, Fareeha reaches out and pats Lena on the back. “You never know. You could say something worse.”

“Well,” mutters Lena grimly, “I suppose that’s entirely possible, yeah?”

.

Angela and Satya return, and the four of them gather their things and then begin the ten minute walk back to Adawe. It’s a pleasant enough walk – they head through the university hub, where students are drinking and carousing at cafes and bars.

“So,” asks Angela, just as they cross the bridge over Athena’s Creek, “are you proud of us, Satya?”

“Yeah! We made the team!” Lena cheers and punches the air. “And we kicked _ass_ , right?”

“You did,” Satya says, smiling. “You three worked together very well. I am proud, yes.”

“And you’re a fantastic goalkeeper,” Fareeha adds. Satya is: she has sharp eyes and good instincts regarding how attacking players will attempt to score a goal. She also has a magnificent sort of leap, which she had demonstrated several times tonight. It’s almost a pity that Satya was on their team for the mock game, as Fareeha would like to see how well she, Angela and Lena can play against the team’s vice-captain.

“Thank you.” Then Satya’s face falls. “You did see what a poor leader Whitehill is, though.”

“Yes.” Angela’s frowning. “How _did_ she get the position?”

“She is a year older, and the team was hesitant about making a goalkeeper captain.” Satya shrugs. “It is unfortunate. We have the makings of a good team now, I think – last year, Moira and Camila were our only good players, and they had to carry the team. Now, though…now we might have a chance. With you, and the Australians, and Agosti and Larsen…yes. We might have a chance.”

“If we can get Whitehill out of the way,” Fareeha says grimly.

Lena shoots her a horrified look. “What do you want to do? Maim her? _Kill_ her? Shit, Amari, I knew you loved the sport, but fucking hell – that’s a bit rough.”

“I don’t want to _hurt_ her, Lena. Just get her out of the way.”

Satya considers this and shrugs gracefully. “We can write a formal complaint to the sports advisory board, of course. That could work.” Then she’s smiling again, proud and pleased. “For now, though – well done. I will be very glad to have you all playing on the team.”


	4. Soccer Training; the First of Angela's Many Epic and Terrible Injuries; and Everyone Thinks Fareeha's Mother is Like, So Hot (Angela Thinks Fareeha is Hotter)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait everyone! this chapter was originally finished two weeks ago, but it wasn't very good, so I decided to rewrite it when I got back from my holidays. I came back to a lot of uni work, which I am still getting through; in the next week I will be very busy, so I am not sure when chapter five will be up. hence the longer-than-normal length of this chapter - an apology of sorts for not updating in a while!
> 
> note: this chapter was very Angela-centric, the following chapters will not be, as I wish to begin to explore other members of Adawe House, and Fareeha has some interesting stuff coming up! all good, though, so do not worry.

.

Satya, their glorious vice-captain, only hurls ten soccer balls at people during the team’s first practice session, which is held on Thursday of the second week. “Don’t give the ball to the opposition!” she shouts from the goals. “Give it to your  _teammates_!” They’re playing a small game of defenders against attackers. “Tessa, what on earth are you doing? Run  _straight_ towards the ball. Stop skipping around!”

Tessa, who has been doing something that Fareeha would call  _frolicking_ , gives Satya a sheepish apology before dashing towards the ball. Then Moira’s there, and the ball’s suddenly flicked twenty feet up onto the air, and Satya shouts out something indecipherable and angry. She's clearly not happy with whatever it is they're doing.

Meanwhile Angela, bouncing on her toes next to Fareeha, grins and declares, “I don’t know anything about being straight.” Then she’s off, sprinting into the fray as the game ball lands, her blonde ponytail streaming through the air.

Fareeha sighs. It’s a dreamy sort of sigh, and she appreciates the graceful curve of Angela’s muscled calves beneath her long socks. Then she jogs after Angela, shouting out for the ball. Lena is howling, for some reason, and Satya is shouting again – “Mark your player!” – and it’s chaos, yes, but perhaps there’s the making of a decent team here, and Fareeha loves this game dearly.

She receives the ball. Then she, Angela and Lena zip through the defenders, passing the ball back and forth, before Fareeha sees an opening from outside the box and takes a shot. Satya’s hand clips the ball but the ball still hits the back of the net and it’s a goal. She shouts in delight and suddenly Angela’s there, laughing and congratulating her, and she can’t help but to hug Angela.

For a moment she wonders if it’s too much, what she’s done. Then Angela exclaims, “Nice goal!” and throws her arms around Fareeha’s neck, hugging her tightly in return.

And _yes_ , it’s nice – very nice, of course, because this is _Angela_ , who smells like sweat and grass and that lovely shampoo she uses. So if Fareeha becomes a little starry-eyed and dreamy-faced while hugging Angela, then we will excuse her and not mock her too much, other than saying that yes, she is, as ever, _very gay._

 “Couldn’t have done it without your help,” Fareeha tells her honestly. Angela’s hand brushes against the nape of her neck and the sensation – rather like a pleasant tingling feeling – travels right through her body. And that’s-

Then Lena’s bowling into them, shouting and clapping them both firmly on the back, and Satya’s shouting out orders  _again,_ and one of the other team members is complaining about how hard Satya’s being on them.

Satya’s not being hard. She should be captain, honestly – the actual captain, Laura, is currently glaring at a playbook and scratching her head. She’s barely done anything – even during the tryouts, Satya did most of the work.

Fareeha wonders if there will be a future mutiny in the team.  _I will support Satya, of course_ , she thinks, running with the other attackers to the halfway line.  _Satya is a good leader. Satya cares about this team_.  _And Satya is my housemate. I will stand at her side and –_

“Oi, Amari, why are you scowling at the sky?” asks Lena from her right. “Stop thinking bloodthirsty thoughts, yeah?”

“You know me so well,” Fareeha says dryly, before seeing an opportunity and calling out for the ball.

.

“Good session,” Laura Whitehill congratulates at the end of training. She is the only one who is not sweating from hard work, which earns her a few scathing glances. Maria, in particular, tosses her shinpads into her kit bag with a sullen face and mouths something at Whitehill’s back.

Grace voices her displeasure quietly. “Tosser,” she mutters under her breath.

Laura does not hear this, thankfully. Moira chokes on her Gatorade and coughs explosively. Eska slaps her on the back soundly. Tessa sniggers. Satya’s lips twitch into a faint smile. There are only three players who do not seem to mind Whitehill at all – Fareeha cannot remember their names but thinks they are foolish, for that, as Whitehill is clearly going to bring this team down. She is useless! No  _wonder_ Satya does not like her as a captain and player. 

Later, during their walk back to Adawe House, Angela says, “We’re going to have to do something about Whitehill."

“Push her off a bridge,” Fareeha replies immediately.

“ _Fareeha_!” Lena folds her arms. “I never know if you’re joking. You say things with such...intensity."

“I don’t joke.”

“You do,” Angela assures, and winks. “You have a good sense of humour.”

Fareeha smiles and feels rather pleased with herself. Lena makes a gagging sound. Satya’s lips are curving into a smile, despite her bad mood. And Angela just smiles and walks along, sending Fareeha sidelong glances from time to time. Fareeha returns those glances, of course. How could she not?

And then, out of nowhere, Satya says, "You haven't seen anything yet, in regards to Laura - just wait until we play our first game.  _Then_ you will witness how terrible she is." She shakes her head. "I will begin to write the letter to the sports board tonight. Gabriel says that he will edit it for me. And hopefully _that_ will get rid of Whitehill soon enough. Angela? Are you even listening? Fareeha? Oh, for the love of – you two are _terrible_. Stop gazing at each other like that.”

And Lena, classic Lena, who is an agent of chaos and an agitator, a mischief maker, a friend who is simultaneously great and terrible, has been taking photos of them looking at each other. She shows them one such photo: the two of them still in their training clothes, kit bags slung over their shoulders, giving each other sidelong glances and smiling softly.

Fareeha stops herself from swearing, only just, and growls, “Stop doing that! Give me your phone!”

“No fucking chance,” laughs Lena. “Stop being so _cute_.”

It’s a nice photo. Lena has a good eye for taking photos.

Angela does not seem terribly distressed, and just sighs and blushes and looks away, but not before she catches Fareeha’s eyes one last time, her lips curving into a rueful yet amused smile.

.

They come home to find Reinhardt, Mei and Singh arguing over pots and pans in the kitchen – Jesse quickly ushers them away from the kitchen door, whispering, “Don’t get involved – Genji walked in there before to get a muesli bar before kendo trainin’, and Mei shouted at him so fiercely that he sprinted out of Adawe without a muesli bar. Nearly forgot his kit bag. Poor guy.”

Fareeha shakes her head sympathetically. “What’s wrong?”

“Reinhardt wants to make some kinda pastry, Mei wants to make alcohol, and Singh’s just stirrin’ them up, y’know – makin’ it worse.” Jesse sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “They’ve been like this for the last twenty minutes, rantin’ and arguin’, spittin’ like cats.”

And then, from the kitchen, comes Reinhardt’s voice – his tones are injured and broken. “I do not understand, Mei, why you would betray me like this! I thought we were  _friends_!”

“There are no friends when it comes to alcohol,” comes Mei’s fierce reply. “I need this pot for my fruit wine!”

“You aren’t even  _supposed_ to be making alcohol.”

“Well, none of you complain when I share it out, do you? And besides, we  _all_ do illegal things, and things that are against campus rules. We’re bad people, Reinhardt. We are so bad. _So bad_.”

 _She’s right_ , Fareeha thinks, smiling wryly.

“Yes,” interjects Singh, “we are. Remember that time when Winston and Satya accidentally caused a campus-wide blackout? In the middle of winter?”

The first years standing in the hallway all stare at Satya with wide, questioning eyes. Lena looks horrified. Angela seems to be in awe. Jesse looks as surprised as Fareeha feels.

A campus-wide blackout? Overwatch University is practically a suburb of itself, so sprawling are the university grounds.  _How_ had they done that? Blown up a generator? A sub-station? Had hacking been involved? Could you even do that – hack to cause a blackout?

Maybe, though, Satya had done it through sheer force of will. Now that seems very possible. A few days ago, she’d stopped a volatile argument between Torbjorn and Mirembe with a single glance. Such is her power.

“Holy  _shit_ ,” breathes Jesse reverently, gazing at Satya like she is a goddess – which is a somewhat apt reaction. “You did that? Knocked out all the power to campus?”

But Satya just shrugs and murmurs, “A mistake was made.”

Jesse looks disappointed. Perhaps, like Fareeha, he had been expecting an epic tale of hacking and explosions and subterfuge.

Hanzo laughs quietly as he slips past them. “It was a mistake of epic proportions, Satya.”

“It was.” She sighs. “Winston tells the story far better than I do, anyway.”

“That he does,” Hanzo agrees, before heading outside. He’s holding a packet of cigarettes in one hand. Off to smoke, then.

“Now,” Jesse says, staring at the entry doors, “if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna flirt.” He runs a hand through his hair again and grins. 

“Good luck!” Angela declares cheerfully, and claps Jesse on the shoulder.

He winces, murmurs, “Brute,” and then heads outside to  _flirt_. With Hanzo. He’s whistling cheerfully, one thumb hooked through his belt.

Well, then. Fareeha hopes that it goes well. She wonders if they would work together, given they are nearly polar opposites – Hanzo is reserved and a touch aloof; Jesse is loud and friendly and likes to be the centre of attention. She’s not even sure what Hanzo’s studying. Jesse never shuts up about literature.

 _But, still…good luck_ , she thinks, inwardly echoing Angela’s words.

The argument in the kitchen continues. It sounds as though Mei and Reinhardt have teamed up against Singh. They loudly ask why he is even in the kitchen. This is none of his concern. He is nothing but an agitator.

“No  _wonder_ you are studying political science!” cries Reinhardt furiously. “You argue for the sake of arguing! Go and bicker with someone else!”

“But—”

There’s a metallic clash. Suddenly Mei flees the kitchen and thunders upstairs, a large metal pot clutched in her arms. Over her shoulder, she triumphantly shouts, “You’ll thank me in one month! Trust me!”

“Bring it back!” Reinhardt bellows after her. In the hallway, a rather tacky painting is shaken from its hook and clatters to the floor. Lena startles. “Mei! I need it! Mei, think of the  _pastries_!”

.

Inside the common room, Jack and Gabriel are sitting together on one of the loveseats. Gabriel is reading through several pages of notes, and Jack is blinking at a textbook owlishly, his feet in Gabriel’s lap, back resting against one armrest.

“How was training?” asks Jack, smiling tiredly in greeting.

“Good!” exclaims Lena.

“ _Awful_ ,” says Satya at the same time. “Remind me why I cannot kill Whitehill.”

“Jail time,” replies Gabriel in a sing-song voice. “Kiss your amazing career as an engineer down the drain. Also: you won’t get to see Mei much. That would be sad. Or  _me_. You’d barely see any of us. The reprieve from Torbjorn might be nice, though.”

“Murder is bad,” murmurs Jack, reaching up to adjust his glasses. “There’s that too.”

Gabriel regards him affectionately, curling a hand around Jack’s ankle. “And yet Amelie lives among us.”

There’s a hiss from across the room. Amelie, sitting by one of the windows, gestures rudely at them. Gabriel blows her a kiss. Jack just sighs. Amelie closes her book with a snap, gets up, and makes her way over to Fareeha and the others, who are standing near the doorway.

Amelie pauses by the doorway, turns to her left, and stares down at Lena. Lena looks up at Amelie and grins, winking.

Everyone just stays silent and watches. The air is heavy with anticipation. What will Amelie say? Why is she staring at Lena like that?

Fareeha wonders if she will pull out a knife and go Rambo.  _Poor Lena_ , she thinks sympathetically. She doesn’t know many people who would dare wink at Amelie like that – save for Gerard and Al-Farouk, who are greatly loved by Amelie, and thus quite immune to her rages and anger.

“You are sweaty,” declares Amelie, all of a sudden, as though she is voicing some strange epiphany she has just experienced. It’s odd. There’s a breathy quality to her voice – almost husky.

Lena’s lips curve into a daring smirk. “That’s what happens when you exercise, yeah?”

“Yes.” Amelie stares at her for a long moment, then – with a degree of exasperation – sighs dramatically. After that, she stalks out of the common room and heads upstairs.

Fareeha wonders what _that_ was all about. And Lena does not seem terribly perturbed – if anything, she looks extremely satisfied and pleased with herself. She runs a hand through her hair, making the stylishly messy strands of hair stick out even more, and then grins.

“Well, then,” says Lena cheerfully, “what a stud I am! Ah, see Angie, I told you!”

And with that, Lena leaves the common room and trots upstairs. Angela just blinks at the void where Amelie and Lena were standing only moments prior.

“Well, then,” murmurs Satya.

“Well,” echoes Angela, with faint surprise to her voice. “I. Well. Well.”

“ _Well_ ,” says Gabriel mockingly, wiggling his eyebrows. Then he shrugs. “Who would’ve thought?”

“What’s going on?” Fareeha asks, beginning to be thoroughly confused by…whatever this is. Whatever _that_ was. “Angela?”

Jack is also confused, adjusting his glasses again and frowning. “What are you all talking about?”

 “Um.” Angela blinks and grips the strap of her kit bag, moving where it sits on her shoulder. “I – I am going to shower.”

Jack stares at his cousin and asks, “Do you know something, Angela?”

“I,” says Angela, looking slightly awkward, “have homework. And I need to shower. And stuff.”

And so she makes her escape, darting out of the room, but not before she shoulders the doorway forcefully, so forcefully that _another_ painting – this one inside the common room – falls from its fixture and onto the ground. Angela doesn’t even hiss in pain, just makes an annoyed sound, before at last making her escape.

Jack shakes his head.

“Kids these days,” Gabriel sighs.

Without looking, Jack reaches over and takes Gabriel’s hand, raising it to his lips and pressing a kiss to his knuckles.

Fareeha smiles and leaves.

.

Lena walks past Fareeha and Aleks’ room about an hour later, and Fareeha darts out and drags Lena in. She shoves Lena in the direction of the desk, closes the door and leans against it, and says, “I have to know. _What_ went on between you and Amelie?”

“Please tell her,” requests Aleks, pretending to be greatly interested by a textbook. She’s been reading the same page for five minutes. “She’s been trying to work it out for the last half hour.”

Lena sits on the desk and grins. “Have you?” Her eyes are bright. “Not much to work out, yeah? It’s kinda obvious.”

“ _Lena_.”

“You are oddly thick today, Fareeha,” muses Aleks. “All the first years know that Lena, ah…admires Amelie.”

Lena whistles softly in appreciation and nods her head.

Fareeha says, “Yes, of course.” It’s no secret, really – not with Lena exclaiming how wonderful Amelie is, how pretty she is, how endearingly broody she is. “But Amelie just stared at you and….”

“Come _on_ , Amari, use your brains! Think of – oh, I don’t know.” Lena’s bright eyes take on a devilish gleam. She grips the edge of the desk and leans forward, smirking. “Think of Angela, all flushed and sweaty….”

“Oh,” murmurs Fareeha, remembering the sight of Angela after training – sweat beading and running down the length of her neck as she raised a bottle of water to her lips and drank. The flushed glow to her skin. The sheen of her muscles, lean and strong…

There’s silence.

Lena says something. Fareeha doesn’t quite catch it. She remembers Angela, bathed in the glow of the floodlights arounds the training field, spinning the ball in one hand before throwing it in from the sidelines, eyes sharp and scanning the players, droplets of sweat on her arms catching the light….

Oh.

 _Oh_.

Lena groans and rolls her eyes. “For fuck’s  _sake_ , Amari, there you go again. Being all dreamy-eyed and intent. You just ruined my example.”

“Mm. I, um.” She clears her throat and tries to remember how to act as a functioning person. _Damn Angela for this!_ “I think I understand.”

“Fantastic!” Lena claps her hands together cheerfully. “So. _Now_ do you get why Amelie looked at me like that?”

“Yes.”

“Great!”

“You,” Aleks says fondly, “are both so very gay, my friends.”

And, well…

Yes, they are.

.

Lena leaves to go and raid the kitchen. Fareeha decides to go and check if Angela’s alright – shouldering the doorway must have hurt considerably.

And _perhaps_ she has ulterior motives, such as seeing Angela, and being in Angela’s presence, and maybe even _flirting_ with her.

So off she goes. It’s not much of a trip – Angela and Hana’s room is only two doors down.

Lucio is there – he and Hana are editing a collab video together, the two of them sitting on Hana’s bed and murmuring quietly. Angela is sitting at the desk, reading a book and writing notes about it furiously. She’s wearing a blue sports hoodie, the hood up over her head.

Fareeha waves a greeting to Hana and Lucio. Then she clears her throat and says, “Angela.”

Angela ignores her and turns a page, muttering something under her breath.

Fareeha feels a little stung by that.  _Why is she ignoring me? Did I do something? Say something? Does she have a headache? Has Lena annoyed her too much?_

Then Lucio gestures to his ears. “She’s got earphones in.”

Hana reaches back and slams an open hand against the wall. The resulting sound is deafening. A piece of plaster falls from the ceiling and lands on Angela’s bed. “Hey!” bellows Hana. “You’ve got guests! Don’t be rude!”

Angela hardly startles. Calmly, she glances over to Hana, who points at the doorway. Angela turns in her chair, smiles to see Fareeha standing there, and reaches up to take out her earphones.

And her hoodie declares, on the chest, in bold grey letters:  _JOCK_.

Fareeha blinks and thinks,  _oh, dear. Oh no. Why this. Why me._

The sight of Angela wearing a hoodie that says  _JOCK_ will forever be fixed in her mind.

Honestly. It’s like she does this on  _purpose_. For a reason. And that reason is to  _test_ Fareeha. To – to destroy her slowly. With great precision. With plaid and running shorts and hoodies that say  _JOCK_.

 _Fareeha Amari. Gay Disaster_.

“Sorry,” Angela says, and smiles a tired and angelic smile. “What’s up?”

“Um.” Fareeha clears her throat and momentarily forgets why she’s here. Hana sighs and rolls her eyes.  _That’s right!_  “How is your shoulder?”

“Oh.” Angela leans back in the chair and rubs the shoulder in question. It was her right shoulder that slammed into the doorway, and she shrugs it easily enough. “Not really sore.”

“You’re sure?”

“Mm, positive.” Angela tilts her head slightly to one side and considers Fareeha. “Thank you for asking. It’s sweet.”

She shoves her hands into her pockets and gives a shrug of her own. “It’s no trouble, really. Just wanted to check up.”

“Well, thank you.” The smile widens.

Then Fareeha notes, with some amusement, “You made your escape from the common room very quickly.”

Angela groans and takes a pencil from the desk, spinning it through her fingers as she speaks. “And awkwardly, I suppose. Lena…confided in me, last week, that Amelie _might_ have flirted with her, but Lena wasn’t terribly sure, because Amelie is…you know, _Amelie_. And she swore me to secrecy. And then – then _that_ happened, and you all started looking at me, wanting answers! So yes, I ran off, and slammed into the doorway. Very graceful.”

Fareeha laughs quietly. Then she asks, “And tonight? Do you think that Amelie flirted? Lena seemed to think so.”

Folding her arms, Angela raises an eyebrow. “She was – giving Lena the _eyes_ , Fareeha.”

“The eyes,” echoes Fareeha, leaning against the doorway. “What eyes. Open eyes? Crossed eyes?”

“You know what I mean!”

“Come on, Angela,” she teases, “tell me what _eyes_ you mean.”

And then Hana, with a victorious smirk on her face, says, “The same sort of eyes that you two give each other. Long and lingering and _flirting_.”

Angela becomes very still and turns bright red. “I. Um. _Hana_.”

A choked sound escapes Fareeha’s mouth. “Can you just – why is everyone so _vicious_ , today? First Lena, now you…who next?”

And then Lucio, the angel that he is, comes to the rescue with a smooth changing of the topic of conversation. “So,” he says, frowning, “Amelie…flirted…with Lena? I knew Lena liked her but…Amelie thinks Lena is good-looking?”

“Well,” Hana says fairly, “she’s not hideous.”

That makes them all laugh, because Lena  _is_ attractive. She has an excellent facial structure, and her messy hair is indeed very charming. Lena draws plenty of appreciative glances from girls on campus, that's for sure.

“I just…never knew Amelie was interested,” Lucio adds. “That’s why I am surprised.”

“Well,” Fareeha says, “hopefully that means Amelie won’t stab her.”

Lucio laughs cheerfully. “That’s a good one, Amari.”

“I’m serious.”

His face falls. “What? No  _way_. C’mon, that’s funny, haha, good joke – for real, though?”

“Yeah.”

Lucio’s face falls further. He almost seems as though he doesn’t know what to do with that information. “You mean…she really has…a history of stabbing? I thought it was a joke….”

“She does, or so I’ve been told. Someone at Adawe, apparently.” She’s been wondering how to find out who it was – look for scars from being stabbed, perhaps. Or just  _ask_ around, maybe.

Hana, in contrast to Lucio, looks impressed. “ _Nice_.”

Angela catches Fareeha’s gaze and lifts her chin a fraction. “You know about that incident?”

“Satya told me. Did Jack tell you?”

“I was actually skyping him when it happened. I saw Amelie running past with a knife in the background.” Angela shrugs. “It was chaotic. The internet was slow; I couldn’t see much. Just pixels and vague shapes. I could hear the screaming, though.”

“Screaming?” asks Lucio in horror. “Who did she stab? You  _really_  aren't joking?"

“I didn’t see, and I don’t actually know. Jack wouldn’t tell me.” Angela twirls her pencil through her fingers. “Mei might tell you. She loves telling horror stories and talking about injuries.”

Lucio shakes his head and murmurs something under his breath. Hana pats his shoulder and says, "I won't let her get you, bro."

“None of us will,” Fareeha tells him. Then, before she can stop it, her traitorous tongue adds, “I like your hoodie, Angela.”

Silence.

Hana and Lucio crack identical face-splitting grins, and Hana murmurs, “ _That’s so gay_.”

Angela reddens but smiles, and says cheerfully, “I bet you do, Fareeha."

And then she spins the pencil between two fingers, winks, and returns to her work.

.

The university gym truly is a wondrous place. It’s the crowning jewel of the sprawling sports complex, which includes a small stadium, practice fields for various field sports, an outdoor exercise area, tennis courts, and what is possibly the most  _dangerous_ obstacle course that Fareeha has ever seen.

She and Aleks head there Friday morning for a workout. Lucio’s already on one of the treadmills, wearing those bright green headphones of his. Raising a hand and grinning cheerfully, he says, “It’s so cool here! I didn’t expect the gym to be  _this_ nice.” He breaks out a few dance moves flawlessly. Aleks claps in delight. “You two here for a workout?”

“We,” says Aleks, “are going to  _smash_ it – yes, Fareeha?”

“Yes,” Fareeha agrees.

“Well, good luck! I’ll see you later. And remember,” he makes finger-guns at them, “it’s take-out night tonight. Chinese. Gabriel says we have to tell him our orders by five.”

Fareeha had honestly forgotten. “Thanks for the reminder.”

Lucio grins, performs a few more flawless dance moves, and then returns to his jogging.

.

Fareeha and Aleks are leaving the weights’ room, towels around their necks and water bottles in hand, when they encounter two of their housemates walking down the hallway cheerfully.

Angela and Genji are carrying racquets, and wearing gym shorts and tank tops. The two of them are also wearing some kind of clear protective eyewear – almost like safety glasses. Angela waves in welcome, while Genji grins and bounces a small rubber ball on his racquet.

“What are you doing?” asks Aleks, while Fareeha frowns at the blue bruise on Angela’s right shoulder. _That looks like it hurt. Why didn’t she say something last night?_

“Playing squash!” Genji exclaims. “Angela plays! Can you believe that?” He catches the rubber ball without looking and grins. “Hanzo won’t play with me anymore. Not since I broke three of his ribs that one time. Do you play squash?”

 _Broke three of Hanzo’s ribs?_ Fareeha’s eyes widen. Genji’s still grinning. Angela seems very happy and not nervous at all.

Well, then. Maybe Genji’s joking. Fareeha relaxes a little, smiles, and finds herself looking at Angela’s legs.

Oh.

Very nice.

“Not at all, but I enjoy watching,” says Aleks. “Fareeha? Want to stay and watch?”

Fareeha, who has  _not_ been covertly glancing down at Angela’s legs, thank-you-very-much, nods. “Why not?”

They follow Genji and Angela to the squash courts. There are eight of them, tucked away in the lower level of the gym, and each court has a single wall made of thick clear plastic, so that an audience may see in. Fareeha and Aleks sit down on some plastic chairs outside, Angela and Genji head into the court and warm up, and then they begin to play.

Genji tosses the ball up and slams his racquet into it. It rockets into the far wall and bounces back with terrifying velocity, but Angela is lunging over to hit it and the ball hurtles into the left wall, then bounces onto the far wall, then towards the right. Genji leaps over and hits it squarely. And so begins a flawless volley – the solid  _thwack_ of racquets slamming into the ball, the squeaking of their shoes against the polished floor, the quick huffs of breath and laughter. They’re good. They’re  _very_ good.

And they clearly enjoy the game, too. It’s a relaxed sort of match, and they’re having fun. They take time to unleash some fancy shots – Genji spins and hits the ball and laughs. Angela leaps high into the air to hit the ball and _just_ reaches it, cheering when she lands. They continue on, and Aleks and Fareeha watch attentively, laughing at the howl of sorrow Angela makes when she swings and misses the ball epically.

Then there’s a misstep. Genji lunges over to hit the ball, stumbles, and crashes into Angela. Neither of them fall, but they both stumble. Then they right themselves.

“You alright?” asks Genji, fixing the strings of his racquet. “I  _swear_ I hit your arm with my racquet. Did I?”

Angela shrugs and glances down. Crimson drips onto the floor.

Before she knows it, Fareeha’s on her feet and pressing herself against the clear plastic wall, trying to see who’s injured.

And it’s Angela. There’s a thick bloody line stretching the length of her left forearm and she’s  _laughing_ gleefully, even as Genji points in horror.

“I’m fine!” Fareeha hears Angela say through the clear wall. “See? It’s nothing! Just a graze!” More blood is dripping onto the floor. Fareeha does not know  _what_ to think. Clearly, Angela is fine, but the amount of blood….

It’s horrific. Awful. She’s injured. Injured terribly! All Fareeha can see is torn flesh, swelling muscle, and blood.

“You’re bleeding!” Genji clamps a hand over his mouth and turns away quickly. “I’m not good with – oh – not good with blood.”

“Are you going to be sick?” asks Angela, clearly concerned. She reaches out with her right hand and places it upon his shoulder, squeezing it in comfort. Her injured arm continues to bleed, blood running in rivulets down her wrist and hand, dripping from her fingers.

“I hope not,” Genji mutters. “I can’t look at you. I’m so sorry. Are you alright? How bad is it?”

“I’m fine – just worried about you!”

“Oh, Angela,” he says, and grimaces ruefully. “You’re too good.”

Aleks, the genius, opens the door and strides into the court. Fareeha dashes in behind her and makes a beeline for Angela.

Up close, the wound seems not so bad, and then even more terrifying: it is, as Angela had said, just a graze; yet around the edges of the wound, the unbroken skin has the faint blue tinge of bruised flesh, and in parts the muscle is swelling. Fareeha looks at Angela, and says quietly, “Are you _sure_ you’re alright?”

“Really,” Angela reassures. “I have something of an incredible level of pain tolerance.”

“Well!” booms Aleks. “To the medical centre we go! Angela, can you walk, or do you want Fareeha to carry you?”

Angela looks at Aleks in confusion. “I – I can walk, yes.”

“Alright. Another time Amari can hold you in her sculpted arms. Come outside – I will get you a towel. Genji, want a bucket?”

He swallows and says, “I’ll be fine. I think.”

.

Angela’s arm is wrapped in a thin white towel and they leave the gym – on their way out, Fareeha apologetically tells one of the staff members that there’s blood on the floor of one of the squash courts, and that they are so very sorry.

“It’s only the third time this morning,” says the young man, shrugging. “Thanks, though.”

On their way to campus central, where the medical centre is located, they encounter Jesse, who has a cup of coffee in hand and a cigarette between his lips. He raises his free hand in greeting and walks over to join them, greeting everyone cheerfully before his eyes fall upon Angela’s arm, where blood is beginning to soak through the towel.

“Well I’ll be damned,” he says, “but Hanzo _was_ right: no one should ever play squash against Genji.”

“I saw you talking to him this morning!” Angela says excitedly. “How are things?”

“We got coffee, chatted – I _may_ have made him smile,” replies Jesse, clearly satisfied. “Right. The arm. What did Shimada the Younger do?”

“He accidentally hit me with his racquet. Want a peek?” asks Angela, nudging Jesse’s hip with her own.

He grins at her, all teeth. “You _saucy minx_ – give me a look, then!”

She tugs back the towel; Jesse examines the injury and nods thoughtfully.

“ _Well_ ,” he says, “that’s a hell of a little graze, there – some nice bruisin’ here and here – off to get it patched up?”

“I don’t seem to have much choice in the matter,” Angela tells him, eying her escort – Fareeha and Aleks, both with folded arms, and Genji, looking everywhere but at Angela’s arm.

“I’ll come too,” declares Jesse. “We’ll have a grand old time. Let me ring Hana. She’ll want to livestream this.”

“I suppose she will,” says Angela, covering her arm back up and smiling.

.

And so they go to the medical centre on campus. It is a funny little procession – Angela, with a white towel stained red wrapped around her forearm, laughing and joking with Jesse. Genji, looking sick and worried, averting his eyes from Angela’s injury. Fareeha and Aleks, their worry fading, replaced by weary smiles. Hana meets them outside the medical centre, and views Angela’s injury with awe – “Dude,” she says, “ _dude_. Nice. Thank goodness for your pain tolerance, right? I believe the hiking story that Jack told me, now.”

“What hikin’ story?” Jesse wants to know.

“Later,” Angela says firmly, and into the medical centre they go. The secretary takes one look at Angela, and calls for a nurse; the nurse immediately ushers Angela into a consult room, and the others crowd inside the room. Fareeha is shoved in the direction of the empty chair next to Angela, which is somewhat awkward – she’s not a family member, or a significant other.

“You should be sitting here!” she hisses at Hana. “You’re her roommate!”

“I’m doing you a favour,” hisses back Hana. Angela, thankfully, is distracted by Genji’s welfare – can someone get him a glass of water, please?

Then enters the doctor. He is a middle aged fellow, with grey hair and a weathered face, and looks at them in anticipatory amusement.

Then his gaze falls upon Angela and her bloody makeshift-bandage. “Oh god,” the doctor says. “It’s you. I’ve been warned about you.”

A beat.

“From Jack?” asks Angela, smiling faintly.

“He came in during Orientation Week with a photo of you and said, ‘beware of this girl.’ And here you are. Bleeding everywhere.” The doctor grimaces. “Hop on the bed, Angela Ziegler.” Angela gets out of the chair and lays down on the bed. The doctor stands at her side and gently removes the towel. “Let’s have a look at this fine wound. Now – let me guess, by your clothes and the racquets – squash?”

“Yes!”

“Hmm. Nice graze.” He begins to prepare his supplies: disinfectant, gauze, the dressing he will apply to the wound. Then he sits down on a little stool by the bed, the small table of supplies at his side, and puts on some gloves. “Jack says you have quite an incredible level of pain tolerance.”

“Oh, you know – it’s alright.”

“Don’t be humble. He told me about the hiking incident.”

 _The hiking incident_ , mouths Hana cheerfully.

Fareeha decides that she will have to find out more about this _hiking incident_. If it was anything like this, then it must be a gory tale.

Angela, meanwhile, nods. “Ah. Well, yes. I do.”

“Very nice.” The doctor begins to disinfect her arm. “Does this hurt?”

“Tickles,” Angela says cheerfully.

“Kinky,” murmurs Jesse, smirking.

 The doctor laughs as he applies the dressing. “You’re all from Adawe, aren’t you?”

They all nod. Hana asks, “How did you guess?”

“Well, aside from the fact that I know Angela is from Adawe, you all look like Adawe residents. No offence, it’s just a fact.”

.

Back at Adawe, Jack and Gabriel are in the kitchen, drinking coffee together. Jack groans when Angela is pushed into the kitchen by Aleks, unsuccessfully hiding her arm from her cousin. “What did you _do_?” he asks, setting down his coffee cup.

Gabriel _tuts_ _and comes over to examine Angela’s bandaged arm._ “Any stitches?”

“Just a graze.”

“Hear that, sweetie?” Gabriel asks, looking over his shoulder at his boyfriend. “Just a scratch, no broken bones or stitches, no surgery. She’s _fine_.”

“No she’s not,” says Jesse, suddenly. “We have a tutorial in fifteen minutes.”

Angela, still wearing her squash clothes, which are stained with smears of blood in several places, says, “Oh, dear. It’s in Grayson-Han…we have to leave now.”

“No time to change!” says Jesse merrily, and grabs Angela by her uninjured arm, and pulls her off to class.

.

Fareeha, who does not have class on Fridays, later announces that she will wait outside of Angela’s class to make sure that she is alright.

Gabriel, one of the top law students at the university, gives her an amused and sharp look and says, “Jesse is in all her classes, Fareeha. _All_ of them. Even the tutorials. You don’t have to wait outside for her, she’s got Jesse.”

“But I will.” It is the right thing to do, after all. And it is chivalrous – Fareeha thinks that Angela might like that, and Fareeha will _undoubtedly_ enjoy being chivalrous for Angela.

“Yes, Amari, you will.” Then he’s snorting and laughing. “At least Jesse is there to chaperone the two of you, you chemistry-charged hormone-driven young women….”

Fareeha narrows her eyes at him, then leaves Adawe in search of Angela’s classroom.

“Use protection!” shouts Gabriel after her.

.

The Grayson-Han building is one of the oldest on campus, built of lovely grey stone with ivy climbing right up to the roof. Angela’s tutorial room is on the second floor, and so Fareeha waits outside, leaning against the wall with her hands in her pockets. A group of passing girls give her appreciative looks, but she does not notice, so distracted she is by thinking about Angela.

It’s Friday. She’s known Angela for three weeks. They are housemates, and live together, and thus they have become very good friends; they flirt with each other a _lot_ , and everyone teases them about it. So…when is it the right time to ask Angela out on a date? Is it too soon?

She pulls out her phone and sends a message to her mother. _Can we talk tomorrow? I know you are busy tonight with work. I need your advice._

Ana’s reply comes only seconds later. _In a meeting with boring suits who know nothing about the military!!! Or how this security company works!!! Of course habibti xxxx_

And then another message.

_Is this about a girl??? Finally, holy shit, I was getting worried…is it the blonde??? Angela??? Your voice gets all dreamy when you talk about her, you big sap…_

Fareeha gapes at her phone. And then another message appears onscreen.

 _They have seen me texting gtg!_ _L if it’s not Angela I will be so sad, she seems like a nice girl…_

“You never fail to surprise me,” Fareeha mutters, shoving her phone back into her pocket. Ana Amari has _always_ been very clever, like that. Too clever, perhaps.

The door to Angela’s classroom opens and the students rush out. Among them is a head of blonde hair and a familiar cowboy hat: Angela and Jesse.

“Fareeha!” calls out Angela cheerfully. Her eyes are bright, and she’s smiling eagerly. Fareeha finds herself grinning, and pushes herself off the wall.

“How was class?” she asks.

“Oh, fantastic – our tutor is wonderful.”

“And your arm?”

“All good.” Angela steps closer, tilts her head to the side in question. “Were you waiting for me?”

Part of Fareeha wants to joke that she was waiting for Jesse. Instead she replies softly, “Of course.”

The look Angela gives her – pleased and happy and surprised – is worth it.

 _So_ worth it.

.

“Who is this?” asks Amelie, pointing at a photo of Fareeha and her mother, taken at Fareeha’s graduation from high school. It’s 10pm on a Friday night, and upstairs, an ominous rumbling is coming from Mei and Satya’s room. “Older sister?”

“My mother, actually,” Fareeha tells her, smiling. She’s sprawled across her bed reading through a textbook, marking interesting chapters.

“Your mother!” exclaims Amelie. Amelie’s alright sometimes, really: she’s best friends with Gerard – everyone keeps making jokes about them dating, even though they only dated for six months in highschool and then decided to remain best friends – and when she’s not sulking more than usual she’s decent enough to talk to. There’s always a splatter of paint on her arms somewhere, for she is an art student. “She is so gorgeous.”

“She is beautiful,” Aleks agrees. “Very beautiful. The Amaris have good genes, yes?”

“You are beautiful too, Fareeha,” Amelie assures. Then, eyes gleaming, she asks, “Is your mother single?”

Fareeha gapes.

Slyly, Amelie says, “I am joking.”

“Oh.” Fareeha’s quite relieved. Amelie’s humour is…hard to judge at times, honestly. “She – she is single, yes. She was dating this woman – a casual thing, really – but they broke up a few months ago. I think the woman was an accountant? I only met her once.” She laughs quietly. “She was not the sort of person for my mother, really.”

Ana Amari needed someone who would go on week-long hikes, someone who would ride motorbikes and horses and camels. Not…an accountant. Ana Amari needed someone who would say, _let’s climb a mountain this weekend_. It is Fareeha’s hope that Ana might find that someone, one day.

“That’s a pity,” Amelie sighs. Then she asks, “Is she coming to Family Night?”

Family Night is just before the midyear break. Fareeha thinks that nothing could keep Ana Amari away. “Oh, yes,” she tells Amelie.

Mirembe wanders past. Amelie pulls her into Fareeha’s room and gestures to the photo.

“Look how pretty Fareeha’s mother is!”

“Is she single?” asks Mirembe with a grin. “ _Damn_ , Fareeha! Your mother is hot. She was in the army, wasn’t she?”

“Mm. A captain. Then she retired, and began to work for Helix Security.”

Amelie bites her lip and shares a glance with Mirembe, who raises her eyebrows playfully. Amelie says, a touch hesitantly, “Do you…have any photos of her in her army uniform?”

Feeling a touch awkward, but mostly amused, Fareeha pulls out her phone finds a photo of her mother in her dress uniform, and gets to her feet so she can show it to Mirembe, Amelie, and Aleks. Mirembe whistles. Amelie murmurs something reverent in French. Aleks grins.

“The beret,” whispers Amelie. “She is – striking. Powerful. And the tattoo. Fareeha, is your mother real?”

Fareeha bites back a laugh and drops her phone back onto her bed. Mirembe and Amelie return to gushing over the framed photo that Amelie is holding. Aleks sits on her bed, laptop open, murmuring something about protein powder.

And then Angela walks past in the corridor, her nose buried in a book.

“Angela!” Mirembe calls out. “Have you seen this photo of Fareeha’s mother?”

Angela looks up from the ancient book. “Hmm?” Her eyes land on the framed photo that Amelie is holding, and she nods. “Oh, yes.”

“Isn’t she pretty!”

“Indeed,” says Angela, and then she looks at Fareeha and smiles. “She is a star in the night sky, but here stands the sun in all its glory.”

Silence.

Fareeha stares at her, and thinks, _I am dreaming again_.

Fareeha thinks, _why does she have this effect on me?_

Fareeha thinks, _is she even real? Surely not!_

“Honestly, Angela,” Amelie sighs, “you make all of us look so _awful_ when you say things like that.” She rolls her eyes and scoffs. “How are you still single?”

“And that,” Mirembe says, “is a great mystery.”

But Angela’s looking back down at her book and muttering under her breath, continuing on her way down the corridor. There’s a hint of red to her cheeks – surely not Fareeha’s imagination – and then she’s gone.

Reverently, Amelie places the photo back on Fareeha’s bedside table. Then she and Mirembe walk out, beginning to argue about some drama show on television.

Stunned, Fareeha sits at her desk and thinks, _she called me the sun. The sun_!

“Close your jaw, please,” Aleks says. “You will – how do you say – catch the flies?”

Fareeha closes her jaw.

Studying is impossible for the rest of the night.

.

Half an hour later, she gets her revenge on Angela with the most marvellous of things: Fareeha makes her a cup of tea, for Lena has – with a wink and a nudge – told her that Angela _adores_ herbal teas, especially of the orange and cinnamon variety. Fareeha makes the cup of tea, and writes a note, and delivers both to Angela, who is holed up in the downstairs library.

 _You might call me the sun_ , reads the note, _but you are the golden light of dawn, soft and striking and radiant._

Fareeha does not consider herself to be a poet, certainly not, but the soft and wondrous and admiring look Angela gives her makes Fareeha feel like one.

 .


End file.
